


Deliverance

by SavhCaro



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 06:31:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16571441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavhCaro/pseuds/SavhCaro
Summary: What happened between New Rochelle and the subway scene on Person of Interest? A LOT. We know Reese spent time on the streets with Joan. I think she was a major influence in the man we came to know in Person of Interest. She saved him and took very good care of him. This is a backstory I wish we had gotten in the series, but we didn't.  So I wrote one!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my beta Lisa L. Without her making sense of my stream of consciousness writing, there would be no story. She understands my brain way better than me. And she is a very good friend.
> 
> My artist is Souhashi whose artwork I have admired from her first posting. She puts so much emotion into her work I just had to have her as my artist! I am truly honored she agreed and I thank her for her vision, she made my story come to life.


	2. Chapter 2

Keeping his head down, Reese leaned back in his seat. Traveling from New Rochelle back to NYC should only take him about 45 minutes on the train. Rubbing his hands together, he realized they ached. The knuckles were bruised and cut and his left hand was beginning to swell. Wiping his hands on his thighs he realized what he was really trying to do was trying to rub off a slight wetness. Quickly turning his hands over he looked at his palms. Partially dried blood could be easily seen. Balling his hands up into fists to hide the blood made his knuckles split more and start bleeding.

Without raising his head, he cut his eyes to the side. Nobody was sitting across the aisle. Raising his head slightly, he looked at the seat in front of him. Also empty. There were a couple of people toward the front of the car, on the other side of the aisle. They all seemed to be ignoring him. Good. He needed to blend into the woodwork.

He began worrying that people would wonder why his hands looked so beaten up; he didn't need anybody asking questions. Crossing his arms he stuffed his hands under his suit jacket. Feeling something damp, he pulled his jacket open. Bright red blood was all over his white shirt. Damn, the wound from Ordoz had started bleeding again.

His Chinese rescuer, Zhang, had told him he was not completely healed yet and to be careful or all that hard work he had done to save him would have been for nought. But he'd been frantic to get back to Jessica and ignored the man’s warning. Shaking his head, he laughed grimly to himself. Beating Peter to death with his bare hands probably did not qualify as 'being careful'.

He was very good at killing people...in fact, he knew hundreds of different ways to do so. But he’d never liked killing people..........until now, until Peter. Even as he thought the man’s name, he snarled with contempt. He had enjoyed that very much. Too much. For the first time in his adult life he’d actually lost control.

Closing his eyes, he slowly shook his head side to side. He barely remembered what he'd done. But Peter never had a chance. Just like his sweet Jessica had never had a chance.

Even thinking her name made him gasp in pain.....but not the kind of pain that could be eased with a bandage or meds. This was a pain deep in his chest....one that made breathing difficult. Made him moan out loud. He clamped down hard on that pain or he knew it would threaten to completely undo him. He locked it away deep inside, far, far down so nothing and no one would ever touch Jessica or that pain again.

But he'd made very sure Peter felt pain. Every time he’d punched Peter he made sure it was in a spot to cause the most pain.....but not enough let him become unconscious. He wanted that animal to feel his rage at what he had done to Jessica. And so that was just what he’d done. Eventually, he'd realized Peter was no longer trying to defend himself or to get away. Looking down at the bloody remains of what had once been a man he had finally stepped back.

Breathing heavily, he realized Peter was dead. Dead and gone. Never to hurt anyone ever again. Reese, being the meticulously vicious killer he'd been trained to be, Peter never had a chance. Even after picking up a fire iron. Reese had relieved him of that quickly. With his knee banged up and in a brace Peter couldn't outrun him. So Reese just beat him where he stood. Peter landed one blow and it was a good one. By pure coincidence, it hit him right where he'd been shot in Ordoz. The pain from that blow and the anger over what had been done to Jessica flipped the 'kill' switch in Reese.

That was when Reese lost all conscious thought, all the parts that made him human, the parts he’d worked so hard to hold on to all through his work for the CIA. The only thoughts he was left with was a desire to take out his anger and rage on the man that he'd entrusted Jessica to and who had, in turn, killed her. Reese’s anger at himself for abandoning her and not being able to get to her when she called for help only amplified his rage.

Sanity had been slow to return. Holding onto his side, he knew he had to 'clean up' what he'd done. Looking around the dining room where he'd destroyed Peter he realized there was only this room to sanitize. And he'd done that many, many times in his years with the CIA.

Finally the train pulled into the station and Reese stood up to leave the car. He became dizzy and almost fell back down into his seat. Grabbing the back of the seat in front of him, he took a moment to regain his equilibrium while letting the others get off ahead of him. Pulling his jacket tight around him to hide the blood on his shirt, he glanced back at his seat and was relieved to see he hadn't bled on it.

Slowly making his way off the train, he was pushed and shoved by the people trying to get on the train. The pain in his side kept him conscious and focused. He set his sights on the stairs leading up to the street and pushed forward.

Stepping out onto streets of NYC he was immediately taken back to the time he first met Peter. And almost saw Jessica. The thought brought such intense pain that he gasped out loud and stumbled. She was gone. He'd been too late. She was dead.....lost to him forever.

Seeing his unkempt appearance, people shied away rather than try to help, probably thinking he was drunk. Which actually wasn't such a bad idea.

Thinking about that 'run-in' with Peter, Reese almost screamed aloud with rage. If Kara hadn't talked him out of seeing her......would he have seen the same scared, timid Jessica that he’d seen in that wedding video? If he had, he would have taken Jessica away right then and there. To HELL with the CIA and his country. What if he had waited to see her...........?

Reese staggered to the wall of a building and leaned heavily on it. The internal screaming was getting louder. What if.....GOD there were so many ‘what ifs’ in his miserable life.

What if he had gotten out of the army like he'd told Jess he would? Would they now be Mr & Mrs John...........NO! Damn it. Can't go there. Ever.

Or what if he had stayed with her even when he re-enlisted in the army after 9/11? Would the CIA have come after him? They usually didn't take agents who were married. Jessica could have handled being an army wife. Being a nurse would have allowed her to transfer with him and get a job anywhere. NO DAMN IT! Stop it! He couldn’t change what had happened!

He needed to stop his brain....stop the direction his thoughts were taking him. All of that was lost with Jessica. Rubbing his hands over his face he was surprised at the week's worth of beard. How much time had he lost? He was in so much pain.....mentally, physically and emotionally he couldn't make himself move. But he needed to move, move away from the wall and walk. The instinct to not remain in one place for long was too well ingrained in him, first as a Ranger in the Army and then in his time with the CIA.

But walk where? He had no place to go. As far as the CIA knew, he had been blown up along with Kara in Ordos. They wouldn't be looking for him. He needed a drink. A strong one. And lots of it.

Going through his pockets he came up with $28.82. That was all he had in the world. Both literally and figuratively. It was all he had left after buying the train ticket to and from New Rochelle. He needed to eat and he needed a drink. He figured the drink would do him better. He began walking down the street looking for a liquor store. People gave him room when he walked towards them. He was dirty but he carried an aura of danger that made people nervous. If only they knew just HOW dangerous he could be, they’d do more than just shy away from him. If they could actually see how dark he was inside, they would run screaming the other way.

It took a couple of blocks before he found a liquor store. Looking around he realized he was not in a very good part of town. Few people were on the streets and the fact that there were NO yellow cabs told him he was far from downtown. There were some questionable people hanging around the outside of the liquor store, begging for money to buy liquor. One started to approach him to beg but one look at Reese's face and he quickly faded back into the dark.

There were bars on the windows and the door. The lights were on inside and Reese could see the guy behind the cash register waiting on a customer. He pulled open the door and he heard the tinkling of the bell that let the cashier know someone had come in. He glanced up at Reese while handing change back to the customer he'd been helping.

The man wasn't too concerned about Reese.....he'd seen worse. Lots worse in this end-of-the-world neighborhood. He caught his eye and just nodded to him. Reese nodded back and went towards the back of the store where the cheap liquor was.

Checking the prices, Reese kept going farther to the back. His money wasn't going to buy very much. He was trying to figure out if he should buy two bottles of OK liquor or four bottles of rot gut. Want he wanted was to drink and make the pain go away.....make the world go away. He'd lost everything he'd ever cared about and had nothing left. Oblivion would be a welcome release.

Finally deciding for quantity over quality, he bought 4 bottles of the cheapest liquor the store had and put them on the counter. He dug into his pants pocket pulled out the crumpled $28.00 in bills.

"That going to be all for you tonight?" asked the man at the cash register. Looking at Reese up close, he realized he wasn't the normal type of customer he got in here. Suit was kind of dirty and the white shirt had seen better days but it was decent quality. He looked up at Reese's face and froze.

There was nothing behind the eyes. Just emptiness and death. He felt chilled to the bone. Last time he'd seen a look like that was during Desert Storm. When men came back from some of their black-op missions. He knew to say very little and to keep his distance.

Those four bottles of rot gut cost Reese $17.50. That left him with $11.32. Maybe he would get himself something to eat. Opening one bottle right at the counter he took a long swallow. He welcomed the burn of the cheap booze as it slid down his throat. If it wasn't for the burn he'd swear he was dead......after so many days of pain....mental, emotional and physical pain. The lack of pain made him wonder if he was one of the walking dead.

Walking out of the liquor store, Reese ignored the men standing off to the left, in the shadows. They certainly saw him, and his four bottles. Two of the men started following him. One block over Reese found a bodega and went in. Grabbing some snacks he paid for them and went back out. He knew the two men had followed him. They fell back in behind him as he walked away.

The street was relatively dark and there were few people about. Reese took a couple of more pulls on the open bottle of liquor. He had downed half the bottle before he realized it. Shaking his head he just kept walking and throwing back the bottle until it was gone.

Being ex-military he couldn't bring himself to throw the empty on the street so he looked for a trash can. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the two men following him. He knew what they wanted. But they were going to have to fight him to get the bottles.

Finding a trash can, he threw the empty away. Opening the second bottle, he closed his eyes and he took a couple of swallows. Because it had been so long since he'd eaten anything, he was starting to feel the effects of the booze. He knew that was what his 'watchers’ were hoping for, that he'd be too drunk to give them much trouble. Taking a deep breath, he took one more long drink before he put the cap back on the bottle.

Turning away he walked farther down the street. He could hear the two men behind him. He wasn't worried about them. He knew he could still handle them. He just didn't want the bottles of liquor to get broken.

He headed toward a park and walked down one of the paths. It was overgrown but he could follow it. He stopped by a bench and carefully placed the three liquor bottles down. Thinking better of it, he picked up the open bottle again and drank it down til it was empty. Two-fifths of cheap liquor in such a short time was finally having a noticeable effect on him. He weaved a little as he was standing there holding the empty bottle and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

He heard the two men come up behind him. Using the empty liquor bottle like a bat he swung around and cold-cocked the closest guy who went down in a boneless heap. The second guy was right there and swung his fist aiming at Reese's head. But he never connected. Reese ducked and followed up with an uppercut that took him out. With just two swings Reese handled the two men and left them unconscious on the ground.

Wiping his hands on his pants, he took stock of himself. He placed his hand on the dried blood on his shirt but there was no fresh blood. He carefully buttoned his jacket again. No need for anybody to see that.

Once again he looked for a trash can and got rid of the second bottle of booze. Finding a quiet, relatively dark part of the park he sat down on a bench and opened the third bottle and took a swallow. If nobody else came along, he just might be able to drink himself to sleep and to forget.

Thoughts of Jessica threatened to take over but he willed them away, pushing them down deep. He was not ready to deal with them. Taking another long drag on the bottle, he leaned his head back and stared at the sky. He kept waiting for the alcohol to do its job and take the edge of the pain away, to blur the images in his mind. Closing his eyes, blanked out the outside world but made his world collapse in on him. He could feel the raw pain welling up in him once again. He had left her behind. He made that decision. And it had cost her her life. A low groan escaped him as he remembered that day in the airport when she’d asked him to say those words…”Please stay”. God, if he’d only opened his damn mouth and said those two words! She’d be alive. Tears slowly rolled down his cheeks as he wrapped himself in a cloak of misery and pain.

Snapping his head back up he looked around himself wildly. His breath came in short gasps, he wanted to yell as loud as he could, to scream in rage. Balling his hands into fists, he brought one down hard on the bench. With the other he slammed the half bottle of booze down on the bench and was immediately brought up short. Dragged out of his misery, he looked down at the bottle. He'd slammed it hard enough that some spilled out but at least he hadn't broken the bottle. He precious elixir was still there.

Taking another swig of the bottle, he looked and realized he'd almost finished off the third bottle. Damn Kara Stanton! She had worked on him until he could hold his liquor...a lot of liquor, and still not be incapacitated. He had prefered to NOT drink while working but she’d pointed out at that first meeting and many times after that it made him stand out in a crowd. But his job was to blend in. And blending in meant being able to drink anywhere, anytime and anything and still hold it together. Thanks to her training, it was probably going to take more than four fifths to drink himself into oblivion.

Thinking of Kara brought back a whole different set of memories and emotions. Some good but most bad. But at least not painful like his thoughts of Jessica. He grabbed ahold of that one thought and stayed with it.

He'd thought a lot about Kara during his escape and convalescence with Zhang. He'd given up everything because of her. His job, his country...his life. And he'd let her turn him into an extremely adept killing machine. Taught him to turn off any emotions that would get in the way of 'getting the job done'. No matter what, that was the overriding goal...get the job done. He was still trying to accept that they were both given a kill order but she tried to complete her mission while he didn't. What bothered him was she shot him, knowing he had a vest on, but didn't go for a Kill Shot. Why? He knew her well enough to know that she followed orders without question. That very thing was what had begun to undermine their relationship. She never worried about right or wrong. Kara felt that the right or wrong had been decided by Control and it was not her job to question the order.....just follow the order. He had begun to doubt some of the missions they had been on together. Some things just didn't feel 'right' and he began questioning things but after being rebuffed by her more than once with his questions he kept them to himself.

But Kara had been his handler, his mentor, his trainer, his partner and on occasion, his lover. Although 'lover' was not really the right word. Their coupling was more of a stress reliever, a physical release. Sometimes they couldn't even wait until they got back to the safe house. Once she'd forced him into an alley and he took her up against a wall. But there had never been any emotion involved....which in the end, had left him unsatisfied.

Taking another long pull on the bottle he realized it was empty. Three down, one to go. And he was still in pain, still remembering. Please GOD let this last bottle do it. Opening the last bottle he held it up as a salute to his dead partner, blown up by their own government.

Without her at his side he felt rudderless. For so long they had been a team. Working perfectly together. Most targets feared him, but she was really the more dangerous one. It had not taken him long to realize that Kara was a sociopath. She was very good at her job. She seemed to enjoy the torture and the killing. He could do both but he did not derive pleasure from it like she did. He found himself trying to cause as little pain as possible; dead was dead after all.

They had lived side by side, in each others’ pockets for eight years, seldom coming back to the US. The CIA was not allowed to work in the US. And now she was dead. He was supposed to be dead. He was disillusioned with the CIA and had absolutely no reason to let them know he was alive.  
The woman he'd come back half across the world for was dead. Because he’d been doing his job and couldn't get back to her in time. The only two women in his adult life were gone. He had no family. There was no one for him.

His eyes were getting heavier and his thoughts were finally getting sluggish. Tipping the bottle up, he took three good swallows and almost threw up. The rotgut liquor was finally getting to him. He fished around in his pockets until he found the snacks he'd bought with the rest of his money. Nibbling on crackers and sipping on the bottle of booze he slowly felt himself drifting off. He carefully put down the bottle next to the bench. There was about 1/3 left, no need to waste it. Sighing deeply he stretched out on the bench and drifted off, oblivion finally claiming him.


	3. Chapter 3

The chill of the morning air was the first thing he became aware of. With his eyes closed, he used his hearing to try and discern where he was. He could hear birds. Lots of birds. He heard sounds coming from around him, a rustling of leaves. Nature was always a good warning system and everything seemed calm, ordinary.....no danger.

Opening his eyes to slits he looked straight up into branches. Branches? As in a tree? That seemed right with the animal sounds he'd heard. He started to sit up but fell back down on the bench with his eyes clenched shut. His head ached like a son of a bitch. The pull on his stomach when he tried to sit up was a matching dull pain, urging him to stay put.

Taking a deep breath, he felt along his chest and stomach. Encountering the tenderness of his stomach he lightly patted himself. Felt dry. Held his hand up in front of him...no blood. He was beginning to feel a little paranoid out here in the open, flat on his back. He needed to get up and get moving.

Gritting his teeth he tried to sit up again, this time with success. Turning on the bench, he put his feet on the ground. That seemed to help the wildly spinning world in his head. He dropped his head into hands and rested his elbows on his knees. It felt like he needed to hold his head to keep it from exploding from pain.

Slowly shaking his head side to side, and welcoming the pain, pain he deserved, he knew he only had himself to blame. Cheap booze had a way of making you pay later for the money you didn't spend up front on better booze. But he didn't care. The physical pain just a small punishment compared to what he deserved. Being alive reminded him that Jessica wasn't. And it was his fault. And there was nothing he could do to change that.

Looking down, he saw the remains of his last bottle of liquor from the night before. Picking it up, he was surprised there was any left. Opening the bottle he up-ended it and drank it all. It didn't even burn going down anymore.

Suddenly he realized he could hear voices. They weren't close but they were coming his way. He squinted at his watch and was surprised to see it said 6:40. Looking up at the sky he realized it was 6:40AM. People sure came out early in the park. Or were they just now going home? Either way he wasn't in the mood to talk to anybody. Looking down at himself, he saw his suit was dirty, and wrinkled. Pulling his jacket open he could see the dried blood on his once white shirt. Pulling his jacket closed, he knew there was no way to explain away that much blood.

Standing up he let out a groan that he couldn't contain. Whether it was for his head or his stomach or the re-opened wound he couldn't say. Swaying on his feet, he grabbed the back of the bench to keep from falling. The voices were closer. He really needed to move.

Before he could move, three women approached from one of the paths. Seeing Reese, all three quit talking abruptly. They grabbed each other by the arms and walked quickly past him, never making eye contact and disappeared down another path.

Reese slowly shook his head. He must look worse than he thought. Looking down at himself he made a noise in the back of his throat. His suit was wrinkled and not terribly clean. His shirt was dirty with a large dark red stain of his blood. He held the empty liquor bottle in his hand. That combination alone would make most people steer clear of him. Running his free hand through his hair he was surprised at the length. Normally he kept his hair short. Not military short, but short. Thinking about it he realized it had been a while since he'd had a hair cut. Back before Ordos. Rubbing his hand on his chin he brushed across a longish scruff. Not a full beard but it was well on the way to getting there. He knew he looked pretty rough.

His stomach reminded him he'd had very little to eat. Between being hungry and his head aching, he knew he had to take care of matters soon. Looking around and noting that the sun was completely up, he was surprised he couldn't hear any traffic. He must have walked pretty deep into the park last night. One direction was as good as another so he just started walking, looking for a trash can for the empty bottle.

Eventually the sound of traffic could be heard. Making his way to the edge of the park he had come up with a plan for the moment. All he had in his pocket added up to less than $2.00. THAT wasn't going to get him anything. So that was going to be the first order of business. He felt like he was on autopilot, he was hungry but he really didn't want to eat even though he knew he should. What he really wanted another drink.

Putting one foot in front of the other Reese shuffled down the street. He stopped when other people stopped, never noticing the lights changing. He crossed the street when everybody else did. His battered mind kept playing over and over that phone call from Jessica. He hadn't realized that was the last time he would hear her voice. Calling to him, calling for help. And he'd failed her. The pain was still fresh and still cut deep. He punished himself over and over by remembering the nurse's answer when he'd asked about Jessica at the hospital. "Jessica is dead." That one line roared through his head over and over. Every time his heart felt like it stopped beating...it would start beating again when he remembered Jessica's voice.

Wrapped up in his own darkness of mental and emotional misery, Reese didn't realize he'd been marked. Two men watched him walk by. They were well acquainted with people unaware of their surroundings. They made the easiest targets. Catch them by surprise, steal what they could, money, watches, rings, didn't matter. The smaller man nodded in Reese's direction as he walked by. The bigger man watched Reese and nodded his agreement. They let Reese get about half way down the block and started following him.

The crowds were thinner here so they were able to easily keep him in sight. Reese was barely conscious of where he was or where he was going. He flowed with the crowd until there really wasn't a crowd any more. As he walked, the streets became dingier. Trash was piled up in the gutter. The few people on the street hung out near the walls of the buildings. The empty storefronts had taped windows and no lights. Shuffling along Reese felt right at home in the desperate desolation of the streets.

The two men following Reese decided there were few enough 'witnesses' to go ahead and take him down. Increasing their pace, they closed the distance with him. One on each side of him. The shorter man reached out for Reese's arm and said “Hey buddy, you got a dollar?”

Reese jerked his arm away and kept walking. By his second step the bigger man grabbed Reese around the neck to throw him down. Reese's training came back unbidden. Muscle memory took control.

Without thinking, Reese reached up and around the big man's head and used his own body to flip the guy over. He landed with a resounding thud, the breath knocked out of him. The smaller man paused in shock but only for a second. He pulled back his right arm and took aim with his fist at Reese's jaw. He never connected. Reese put him down in two quick moves. Standing over both men, barely breathing hard, Reese dared them with a look and curled lip to get up. The adrenalin rush felt good. Hitting somebody felt good. Best he'd felt since he woke up.

Leaning down, Reese checked the pockets of the two men. Neither had a gun but they did have $23.00 between them. He took $10 and left the rest laying on the unconscious, smaller man's chest. He wasn't going to take everything they had. Just enough to get something to eat and hopefully drink. The bigger man finally got his breath back and was trying to stand up. Reese looked at him, cocked his head and said "Not today." One quick punch to the face and the guy was on the ground next to his friend once more. Stepping around them, Reese continued on his way $10.00 richer.


	4. Chapter 4

Joan sat on the bench with her buggie in front of her. All her worldly belongings were in the four wheeled grocery cart. She'd been collecting things for years, too many to count. She'd quit counting after six years anyway.

Early in the morning the park was just coming awake. Joggers and walkers came down the sidewalk in front of her. Most ignored her and her buggie. Some glanced at her and moved a little farther away when they passed by. The snub was noticed by her but it didn't really register anymore. She knew her looks made people uncomfortable. Her hair was a shadow of its former self. These days it was more gray than red. Not styled and definitely in need of a haircut. She kept her bangs cut roughly but the rest she just pulled back out of the way. Her clothes were rather worn but she, and her clothes, were always clean. The streets had taken a lot from her, but her dignity was still intact.

The pet walkers were the ones she liked the most. Dogs didn't care if you had money or not, they weren't judgmental. They didn't really even care if you had something to eat. They just wanted a pat on the head or a scratch behind the ears. Most of the dog walkers were familiar with her and let their four legged babies stop and get a pat or a scratch. She knew most of the dogs names but very few of their walker’s names. Which was fine by her.

Eventually the morning crowd thinned out. Squinting at the clock on the side of a nearby bank she saw it was 7AM already. Looking around she finally spotted Ralph. He slowly made his way to her and plopped down on the bench. "Mornin'" was all he could muster by way of a greeting.

"Morning Ralph. Was wondering when you were going to show up. You able to sit here for a few? I'll bring you back some breakfast."

Ralph yawned and scratched his beard. Looking over at Joan he gave her a gap toothed smile. "Sure. And some coffee if you can manage it. Can't seem to get goin' today, coffee might help. These old joints, ya know."

Joan stood up and ran her hands through her hair, pulling some tangles out. Not having a brush, or a mirror for that matter, she neatened her hair up as best she could. Tugging on her jacket, she shrugged her shoulders to get a more comfortable fit. Used clothes never seemed to fit right. She did the best she could with the offerings in the homeless shelter but there was a lot of truth to the saying ‘beggars can’t be choosers’. Turning around to face Ralph she looked him straight in the eye. "Watch my buggie and don't let anybody touch a thing. Nothing. Do you understand? NOTHING." Ralph nodded. "My stuff is my stuff and I expect it to all be here when I get back. OK?" Again Ralph nodded. "Good, be back in about an hour or so."

With a deep sigh Joan began to walk. She knew exactly where she was going. Keeping her eyes downcast she walked across the street at the corner. She became more or less invisible to the people around her. They were dressed for work and had their phones to their ears or in front of their faces. She didn't actually exist to them.

The homeless shelter that she prefered served breakfast from 6am to 9am every day. She didn't go every day because she didn't always have somebody she trusted to watch her stuff. But Ralph had been doing it for a couple of months and it worked out good for both of them. She just had to remind him why he was there otherwise he'd forget and start talking to people or once he’d even walked away from her buggie! But that only happened that one time.

After about a 20 minute walk she rounded the corner and there was the shelter. Only a few people stood outside. Most had already eaten their breakfast and were outside socializing. Odd how 'normal' things felt after you ate. Joan realized the walls you put up seem to disappear once you have a full stomach and nothing that somebody else might want or take from you. After years of living with almost nothing, she was surprised to find that she preferred it that way. So many people these days were caught up in getting “stuff” and showing that they had it, that they forgot to enjoy it.

She walked in and spoke to a few people that she knew from the streets. Many people smiled at her and called her by name. A few even gave her a quick hug. She was well known and respected in the homeless community. At least the ones in this part of town. She'd found it best to stay in one area where she knew the people, either on the streets or in the businesses.

Standing in line she looked out over the people still sitting at the tables eating. She nodded and smiled at the ones she knew. Getting her food on a tray she found a space to sit where she could eat in peace. She wasn't really in a talkative mood yet, needing to drink that cup of coffee first. Taking her time, she watched the folks coming and going. There were familiar people that she'd known for a couple years, there were newer ones she'd only just met. New people always seemed to try and blend in, to not be noticed, as if they were ashamed to be there or maybe they were afraid they'd be asked to leave. But nobody was ever asked to leave unless they got rowdy. This was a shelter that served good, hot food. Sometimes the only hot food these people got during the week was right here.

There was a slight commotion at the door that drew her attention. The crowd seemed to move back and make a path for someone. Suddenly a tall man, in a rumpled black suit walked in. Everyone was looking at him. A suit? In a homeless shelter? At a soup kitchen? Now this was going to be interesting. Certainly something new and different to talk about.

Joan sipped her coffee and watched him. He was tall, pretty good looking from what she could tell from a distance. Hair was kind of long and he had a unkempt looking beard. He stood there looking around, obviously not familiar with the shelter. Someone finally pointed him toward the line. People automatically gave way to him, almost like he had an aura around him. He walked with his head held high and didn't look right or left. She watched the faces of the people around him as he moved through the crowd. Some looked fearful, some looked suspicious but some actually had looks of respect. Most people chose not to share their pasts with anyone or if they did, it was only with people they knew for awhile and closely trusted. Joan noticed that the ones giving the man in the suit respectful looks were those she knew had some sort of military background. Hmm, interesting she thought.

Having been on the streets for years, Joan had honed her instincts about people that were worth getting involved with and others that were best left alone. He did not belong here. This was not a 'setting' that he was comfortable in and neither were the people around him. Something drastic, painful or both must have driven him to leave whatever life he'd been living to end up at place like this. She saw the potential of his worth but she could also almost ‘see’ the menacing air he gave off, as if he was someone to be wary of. That contradiction intrigued her. He was an enigma. Her curiosity was piqued.

Joan watched him accept the food offered but had it put in a bag. Nodding his head in thanks, he turned and walked back out the door. A trail of quiet followed him until he was out of the door. Then people returned to their food and/or conversation. People come and go in places like this all the time. Shaking her head Joan wondered what his story was.

Gathering up her empty plate, she got back in line and picked up Ralph's breakfast. Her mind on the man in the suit, she almost forgot the most important thing, Ralph’s coffee. Smiling to herself she got two cups, one for him and one more for her. Walking out the door she looked down the street both ways, wondering where the man in the suit went. But he was nowhere in sight. Shrugging her shoulders once more she started walking back toward the park and Ralph.

___________

Holding the bag and the cup of coffee, Reese walked quickly away from the shelter. He felt guilty going to a place like that; taking free food that was meant for others who really needed it. But in response to that thought his stomach reminded him HE needed food, whether he wanted it or not.

Reese walked in the opposite direction from where he came from. He wanted to put as much distance between him and where he left those muggers unconscious. He really didn't want that kind of attention.....from their friends or the cops.

Coming upon another park he veered off. It was very small. One little area in the middle that was cleared with a couple of benches. One of the benches had definitely seen better times......the slats were broken on the seat and only the back remained. Walking around Reese sat down on the next bench. At least it had all its parts.

The park had seen better days. The bushes were overgrown. The leaves looked to be 2-3 seasons deep. Apparently the Parks Department didn't come to this part of town. Worked for him. He felt like the park looked...the shell of it was there but so much detritus had accumulated, it was a shadow of what it once was. It was just as shadowed and broken as his soul.

Placing the coffee cup down he opened the bag. Inside was a breakfast sandwich and some greasy hash browns. He realized he was hungry but had no desire to eat, to unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. He wasn’t sure it would be worth the bother. After all, what did his hunger matter when all the food would do supply his brain with more calories to continue to function, to THINK and feel the emptiness in his heart? He kept staring at the food. He wanted his mind blank. He tried to zone out,to tune out the traffic and the noises of life going on around him. He just kept hearing a low, keening wail in the back of his mind. Rubbing his eyes with his hand he tried to focus his thoughts.

Looking down again, he saw the gaping bag with the unwrapped sandwich in his hand and the cup of coffee next to him. Putting down the bag and he picked up the coffee cup. Popping the lid he took a sip. It wasn't hot but it wasn't cold either. Bitter and black…. it was just what he needed. His eyes focused on the area around him. There were a few people walking nearby but not many. A poorly-dressed middle aged woman was seated on one of the other benches talking on a phone.

Taking a second sip he finally felt ready to tackle the sandwich. After a couple of bites it really did taste good and he finished it quickly. Looking back in the bag he grabbed the hash browns and finished those too. Finishing off the coffee he realized he almost felt human. Feeling human brought back a lot things he was trying to forget or at least ignore.

Looking around, he realized with relief that nobody noticed him. He’d become invisible, just like the other homeless people in NYC. Reese realized he had nowhere to go. Nothing to do. No one to answer to. No one to go to. He had nothing. He was nothing. He had failed at everything that meant something to him. The howling in his mind was getting louder. He wasn't going to be able to ignore it much longer. He needed something to make it stop.

He needed a drink. It was the best problem solver when you needed the world and the pain to go away. Feeling in his pocket he recounted his money, he had just under $12. He was going to have to find some cheaper liquor than last night.

Standing up, he gathered up his trash. Kara would have probably mocked him, if she could see him now but some habits were so ingrained he couldn't break them. He saw a trash can and dropped the trash in it.

But, habits like that also make you stand out in certain crowds. People here didn’t throw their trash away, they just threw it on the ground. He'd caught the attention of some people that he had passed earlier. When he walked away from the trash can, they followed him. Taking note of the wrinkled suit, the less than clean white shirt, the shaggy beard and longish hair. Definitely new to this area. His new followers assumed despite his current looks, that he had money and would be an easy target.

Since he was already in a seedier part of the city, it wasn’t long before he came across a liquor store that looked like all it had was cheap liquor. Standing outside, he watched the cashier and a customer. He wanted to wait till the store was empty. Before the customer could leave the store, a man and a woman walked past him into the store. The man was holding up the obviously intoxicated woman. She almost fell walking in and grabbed a shelf with a few liquor bottles on it, almost knocking them to the floor. Both the man and the cashier yelled at her. Reese watched as the woman shrugged off the man’s hands and attempted to stand up on her own. She didn’t do too well. She almost fell again and this time the man slapped her in the face, hard. Reese’s automatic reaction was to go to the woman’s defense. He had his hand on the door but was stopped by hands pulling him away from the door from behind him.

He had been so intent on watching what was happening in the store he hadn’t even noticed his new followers. They quickly pulled him around the corner where it was darker and began beating on him. Again, all those years of training came back to him unbidden. He dispatched them almost as quickly as the ones on the street earlier. The fight was over before he even realized he’d been IN a fight. Standing there over the two men he realized that people were walking past and ignoring the men on the ground. Rough neighborhood indeed.

Reese started to step away but looked down at the unconscious men. A grim smile came over his face and he reached down and went through the pockets of both of them. They had a bit more money than the last two. He counted up $123 total between the two. He kept $60 for his trouble and tucked $63 in the pocket of the closest one. Stepping over them he walked back toward the corner.

Just before rounding the corner back to the street he paused and looked down. Three fights in two days had put serious wear and tear on his clothes. His suit barely resembled something by that name. There was a rip in one knee, the hem in one pants leg was dragging the ground, his jacket was missing a button and the left sleeve had pulled away at the shoulder. Holding his jacket open he shook his head. Pulling the jacket close over the dried blood stains on his shirt, he turned the corner and went back toward the liquor store.

Running his hands through his hair he straightened his jacket and squared his shoulders and walked into the liquor store. With more money to spend this time he picked up 4 bottles of better liquor and checked out. The cashier looked him over but didn't bother to make eye contact or small talk. He just put the bottles into bags and gave back the change. Once again Reese opened a bottle right in the store and took a couple of good, long swallows. Smiling to himself he tightened the cap on the bottle. Better liquor didn't burn so much. Picking up the bottles he walked out of the store.


	5. Chapter 5

That became the pattern for the next day or so. Drink up the liquor he bought, sleep it off in a park. He got into fights almost daily. He never started them but he always seemed to win and found out it was an easy way to get money for more liquor. He never took all their money. Just under half. He only felt bad about the stealing til he could get that first swallow of liquor at the liquor store. After that he didn't care. Until next time.

Sometimes he would buy something to eat but he hated wasting the money on food. Each day it was taking more and more liquor to numb the pain.

___________

Walking into the homeless shelter, Joan's eyes swept over the crowd already in line for food. She was searching for the tall guy in the suit. He'd been so out of place last time that he'd stayed on her mind; he intrigued her. But he hadn't been back to eat here yet. She'd asked around but nobody had seen him.

Her days were spent the same almost every day. Taking care of the group she lived with. Somehow she had become their de facto leader. It was a group that grew and shrunk on a regular basis. New people joined them, others left to go it alone or join up with another group. Very few ever actually got 'off' the streets. Once you reached here, there was seldom any going back.

Joan was hard when you first met her. She protected what was hers, what she had earned, and didn’t take to thieves. They were all down on their luck on the streets and didn’t need to be stealing from each other. But she had a big heart that cared for those new to the streets and alone. Her reputation was well known among the people that lived on the streets. She was highly respected in her group. Being fair when squabbles kicked up had gone a long way toward people coming to her for help instead of fighting about it. Most of the people in her group were good, hardworking people down on their luck. Not a lot of drinking but there was some but she refused to help anyone with a drug problem. She’d tried before but found that those people would sell their soul and anything that was of value whether it was theirs or not. When you had very little, both space and possessions were jealously guarded at all times.

There was a core group, of about twenty people, that had been together for a couple of years. Others came and went as needed. Some were politely asked to leave, others more forcefully told to leave.

Leaving her buggie with Ralph again, Joan felt safe enough to spend more time at the shelter than usual. Getting her breakfast she sat down with others. The conversations around her were lively and she joined in with some of it, but mainly she kept looking for the man in the suit. It had been two weeks since she'd seen him. There was something about him that drew her. Something that kept him in her mind, made her care what happened to him.

Suddenly she saw him. Or at least she thought it was him. The man that had just walked in was tall. Taller than a lot of the folks here. He didn't yet have that stoop shouldered stance that so many people on the street had.....like they were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.

But he certainly looked different. His hair was longer and he had a full beard going on now. But it was his clothes that made her sit up. The black suit had dirt caked on it. There was a big rip at the top of one sleeve next to the shoulder. As he walked by her she noticed that the pants were even dirtier and had rips on each leg. He had definitely been through some rough times since she'd seen him last. He'd also lost a good bit of weight. Shaking her head she knew what that meant. What money he had was going toward liquor or worse and not food. She hoped for his sake, it wasn’t the ‘worse’.

Again he got his food to-go in a paper bag. Nodding his head he turned to walk out. His eyes swept over the people eating at the tables and he made eye contact with Joan. She was caught off guard by the intelligence she could see in his eyes. He broke the eye contact and walked quickly out the door. The was something else in his eyes but he'd turned away too fast for her to read it.

Asking the person next to her to watch her food, she got up quickly and made her way to the door. Even though she was only a few moments behind him, he'd once again disappeared. Checking both directions down the street showed her nothing. Walking back in to her table, she promised herself if he showed up again she was going to get close to him while he was in line. He wasn't going to get away from her again. The concern she felt when she saw him was getting stronger.

_______

Reese's mental state was deteriorating. His days were spent as drunk as he could afford to be. Depending on how much money he could scrounge up it would be four bottles of barely acceptable liquor or 6-7 bottles of pure rotgut liquor. Most of the time the alcohol would drown out the hunger pains. But if his money ran out before he could reach that blind drunk threshold he'd be forced to get something to eat. He hated using his 'hard earned cash' on food. Food wouldn't help him forget, food made him remember.

Dreams of Jessica were getting harder to come by. When he was able to sleep he just passed out, not really sleeping. It was a dreamless sleep or, it was nightmares. Nightmares where he was helpless once more. He would see Jessica being beaten to death and he would be unable to save her. All he could do was watch and hear her call his name. He'd wake himself up screaming. Seeing her die over and over was slowly killing him...one nightmare at a time. Soon there were no more good dreams of their times together. Those seemed to have disappeared no matter how hard he tried to remember. Maybe those remembered good times WERE the dream and this hell he was stuck in was the true reality. He just didn’t know anymore and sometimes, deep down, he found he didn’t care, he knew he was only getting what he deserved for all the blood he had on his hands.

The lack of food was finally having an effect on his health. He'd gotten beaten up twice in the last two weeks. Weak, his reflexes were slow. The last one he'd only survived because of his training. He knew how to protect himself even when he wasn't able to defend himself.

Sitting in an older part of a park by the river he stared off in the distance. Leaning back on the bench he tipped the bottle up and took a big swallow. Liquor went down his throat like water. Didn't even burn anymore. Keeping the bottle wrapped up in the paperbag he tucked it inside his coat. He'd finally given up his suit jacket, or what was left of it. It offered no protection from the elements and seemed to set him apart from other street people, making him more of a target. He'd stolen his current jacket off a guy who'd tried to mug him about a week ago. The other guy was in as bad a shape as Reese but Reese was younger. The jacket fit him but it was filthy. And smelled pretty bad too. But at least he looked more like he fit in and was not so much of an easy mark. Pretty soon he'd have to get some new pants, his were about to become indecent.

It had been a month since he'd arrived back in NYC.

__________

Joan found herself thinking about the mystery man at the soup kitchen. He stood out in her memory because he looked so out of place. Not only the clothes he was wearing the first couple of times she'd seen him, but also there was something almost familiar about the way he moved and when he was standing in line, the way he held himself. Or maybe it was the intelligence, the awareness she had seen in his eyes the one time they actually had made eye contact. For the life of her should could not figure out why he continued to pop up in her memory over and over.

He never talked to anybody and was always alone. She watched his clothes get shabbier every time she saw him. Things were not going well for him. He didn't seem to be adjusting to life on the streets. She wasn't sure exactly what bothered her the most: why she noticed this or why she seemed to care. Both were out of character for her and for anyone living on the streets. Life was hard enough taking care of yourself without worrying about someone else who you didn’t know, who hadn’t even spoken to you. But that was exactly what she was doing, worrying about him.

Apparently he didn't live in her 'neighborhood' because she never saw him except at the soup kitchen. Finally giving into her own worries, she asked some friends to keep an eye out for him. Not necessarily do anything for him or to him, just let her know if they saw him. He was easy to describe because he stood out to everybody. Most remembered him from soup kitchen.

_____________

The suit pants he'd been wearing for the last month were not made for living in the streets. They were made of thin material, not much for warmth and tore easily. The Salvation Army location was a welcome surprise. He'd stumbled upon it one night when he was almost too weak, or too drunk......or both, to stand or walk much further. There was a sign on the door that said their doors were locked every night at 10pm for safety and security. Banging on the door til his knuckles were bloody he finally gave up. He had slowly slid to the ground leaning against the door. Holding his bag with his bottle in it he had turned it up and drained it. He figured he could just sleep in the doorway til the next morning.

Somebody heard the banging and heard the thump when he slid down the door. An aide worker opened the door carefully and seeing the pitiful excuse for a human being huddled by the door, immediately summoned one of the Salvation officers.

Together they brought him inside. He was offered a cot to sleep on but only if he agreed to take a shower. While he was in the shower they found him some clean, but well worn, clothes to put on. They threw away the clothes he'd had on. They weren't worth saving at this point.

"Son, is there anything we can do for you? Anyone we can call for you?" the Major asked, sitting across from Reese while he ate a sandwich. Reese shook his head and refused to look him in the eye. Eating half of the sandwich he wrapped up the other half and stuffed it in the pouch of the new hoodie they had given him.

"You're welcome to spend the night if you like. No one will bother you here."

Reese looked across the room and saw several cots with people sleeping on them. He hadn't slept in any type of bed in a long time. Sure would feel better than a park bench. Or brick sidewalk in an alley. And he was just so weary, so tired of it all. He nodded his head yes, but still making no eye contact.

Reaching across the table, the Major tried to grasp Reese’s mangled hand but John jerked away from his touch.

“Let me at least bandage your hands. Looks like you were hitting something more than just our door.” Looking at his hands John was surprised to see how raw and swollen they looked. Slowly he stretched his hands back across the table. With a couple of swabs of alcohol, which made him wince, it didn’t take long before both hands were bandaged. He was amazed at how good his hands felt. They’d been hurting for so long he’d become immune to the pain.

"Come on over here. You can sleep on the one near the door. Think you'll feel more comfortable there." said the Salvation officer. Watching Reese shuffle over to the cot and carefully sit down, he shook his head. Another lost soul, new to the streets, not knowing where to get help if he even wanted help.

"You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need. We have lots of ways to help you if and when you are ready. My name is Robert. I am a Major in the Salvation Army and this is the shelter that I run. Please know you are safe here."

Reese gave a quick nod while looking down at the floor. Slowly he lay down on the cot and curled up on his side. Kept his back to the wall and facing out toward all the other sleeping forms in front of him. He wasn't turning his back on anybody no matter where he was.

"Good night son. Sleep well. We serve breakfast at 7am. You are welcome to stay." Again, getting no response from the man curled up on the cot, the Major walked away.

Falling into a deep, exhausted sleep, Reese found the dream he'd been searching for: the vacation he'd had with Jessica in Mexico just before 9/11. His whole life had changed in that moment along with all those people that had been in the Towers and later the entire world....but for a little while he'd been happy. He could almost see Jessica's blonde hair, kissed by the sun and her sunburned shoulders, warm to the touch........

Instinctively, Reese's internal clock let him know when it was 6AM. He woke immediately but stayed perfectly still til he could assess where he was. Slowly the night's activities came back to him. He was on a cot and was where? Salvation Army. And clean. He felt clean for the first time in weeks. He hadn't cared for so long that it was almost a shock to his system to be clean. And clean clothes, he’d forgotten how good that felt too.

But with that realization he remembered his dream. Jessica. The pain was immediate and physical. He curled tight into a ball, clenching his teeth trying to hold in the animal wail that threatened to escape. It was too much. He could hardly breathe. He had to get out. He had to get away.

Sitting up, he realized a few other people near him were waking up. Frantically searching for a way out, he saw the door near his cot. He stood up too fast and swayed on his feet. But he forced himself to breathe deeply and get control. Walking over to the door he realized it had a deadbolt on the inside. He unlocked it and was out the door within seconds.

Having no idea where he was, he just took off running as fast as he was able. He was surprised at how weak his legs felt and he was gasping for breath before he'd gone a block. Stopping around the corner he leaned against the building to get his breath and gather his wits about him.

He was sober for the first time in over a month? Two months? Everything was crystal clear and too bright around him. He'd been in a drunken stupor for a long time, doing anything to kill the pain. Fumbling with the hoodie he had on, he found the half a sandwich from the night before. Wolfing in down he hardly even chewed it. Now he needed something to drink. Something alcoholic. But he had no money. But he knew how to get some.......with his fist.


	6. Chapter 6

Joan became concerned when none of her friends had seen the mystery man from the soup kitchen. She wasn't sure why she felt alarmed. He was a stranger to her, she didn't even know his name. But there was something about him that drew her to him.

Life continued on as it always did on the streets. Each day pretty much like the other. Some days were good, items found that could be sold or traded, but other days turned up nothing. They all tried to help each other when they could because they all knew there would be days when they needed the help.

About a week later one of Joan's friends came looking for her.

"Joan, you still looking for that tall guy from the kitchen?" the man asked without preamble.

"Yes! Have you seen him?" she answered anxiously.

"I think I saw him yesterday. Clothes are different. Think he finally got rid of that suit. Had a hoodie on I think."

"How did he look?"

"Not too good. He was by himself and he had a brown paper bag he was holding onto. You know what was in that. Still shying away from other folk. Kinda slinkin' in the shadows."

"Was he hurt?" she asked worriedly.

The man thought for a minute, "Not that I could tell. Just looked.....beat up." He answered with a shrug.

"Thank you for letting me know. Please keep an eye out for him." Joan said as she turned away.

"Why you so interested in him?"

Joan stopped for a moment. "I really don't know. But I think he reminds me of someone." She walked off shaking her head.

_________________

The one night that Reese spent at the Salvation Army location had a major effect on him. He had been clean and for the first time in almost two months he had been sober. For one night. A night that brought that elusive dream of Jessica and their time in Mexico back to him. It reignited the pain and guilt that he had drowned out at the bottom of all those bottles of cheap liquor. Now the pain of guilt was back again and stronger than ever. He could not get away from it. It followed him everywhere. Everything he saw reminded him of what he'd lost. Reminded him of the guilt he carried for leaving Jessica and the guilt of not being there in time to save her. She was his everything and he had failed her in every way.

The fights he got into were more numerous and he was losing as many as he was winning. Winning at almost any cost...he'd steal some of their money and get drunk again. But losing was worse, he'd ended up many a night in an alley, badly beaten and no money to get drunk with, leaving him physically and emotionally in unbearable pain.

Finally he'd been beaten so badly he thought he was dying. He hoped he was dying. It was what he wanted to do...to die. He just wanted to make the pain go away and maybe, finally, be with Jessica. He came to in another dark alley with dried blood in his mouth and one eye swollen shut. He dragged himself out of sight behind some boxes.

This was it. This had to end. Enough was enough. After a struggle, he was able to stand but had to lean on the wall behind him. Trying to get his bearings he realized he was near the river. And that would be his salvation.

Staggering down the alley he stayed in the darkest shadows. He had one goal in mind and didn't want anything or anyone to get in his way. Only being able to see out of one eye with the other being swollen shut, he tripped over something and went sprawling. He found himself face down in something wet. Wasn't sure what it was but it roused him a little bit. Rolling over on his back he realized the hoodie was soaking up whatever the liquid was. Hopefully it was water, but he really didn't care.

Forcing himself to sit up he peered into the darkness to see what it was he'd tripped over. He saw a pair of legs encased in dirty looking sweatpants. The shoes on the feet barely qualified as shoes.

"Hmmph, somebody worse off than me." he mumbled to himself. Finally getting his feet under him he stood up and staggered a couple of steps to catch his balance. The legs he tripped on never moved. Using one foot he tapped one of the feet but got no response. On the streets it was usually better to walk away than to get too nosy about somebody else. But somethings never change, no matter how far down the ladder you fall.....he leaned over and shoved the guy in the chest.

"Hey pal, sorry I kicked you. You ok?" His words sounded slurred in his own ears. But with a busted lip it was hard to talk.

Again there was no response. Leaning over, Reese pressed his hand against the guy's neck. No pulse. He was dead. Straightening back up, Reese tilted his head back and closed his eyes. One more person gone and nobody cared. He turned and started to walk away but something caught his eye. A paper bag. His constant companion since he'd been back in NYC was this same type of paper bag. He bent down and grabbed it, finding it heavy. Shaking it a little he realized there was still something in it. Pulling the bottle out he saw that it was only 1/2 empty.

"My lucky day, sorry it wasn’t yours, pal." he said with a mirthless laugh. Screwing the cap off he tilted the bottle back, not caring what kind of liquor it was.....just as long as it made the pain go away.

Wiping he hand over his mouth, he raised the bottle toward the dead man and said "Thanks, pal. I needed this." and turned and continued he way toward the river. His goal was finally in sight.

Something caught his eye, a piece of newspaper wadded up in the corner. Not that it really mattered to him because he didn't care about anything happening anywhere, no news was good news. That made him grimace at the irony of that thought. Looking back at the newspaper he picked it up, looking for the date. The date ripped through him when he saw it. It was the date he'd found out about Jessica. Not the date she was.................taken from him, but the date he'd found out she was gone. Dropping the paper he held his head between his hands he began screaming but no sound came out.

________

Two of Joan's friends were sitting by the river near the George Washington enjoying the quiet. The parks along the river were empty at night. Wasn't really a safe place to be, unless you were familiar with how things worked on the streets at night. There were places you could go, places you stayed away from and some places you the passed on through as quickly as you could. The bench they were sitting on faced the river and had a great view of the skyline of NYC.

Life on the streets was noisy. Always something going on, cars driving by, buses barreling down the road, constant honking of horns. But if you wanted to beg for money or get some freebies out of trash cans you had to work the downtown area. Not the classy parts of course but there were plenty of places to scrounge. The quiet of the river was a welcome 'sound'.

The sun had set and there was a chill in the air. They sat close together sharing a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. Conversation was a minimum. They had known each other for years. The younger one, named Joe, noticed movement out the corner of his eye. It was habit by now, you had to be alert at all times on the streets. Danger came in many forms, from many directions.

Joe elbowed his friend Mack and motioned with his head to the right. Mack turned and looked. They both saw him at the same time. A man stumbling down the street toward the park where they we sitting. They almost missed him because he was doing a pretty good job of sticking to the shadows, obviously trying to be invisible. But the shambling gait he had caused him to bounce in and out of the shadows. He seemed to have trouble walking.

"Hey, remember that guy in the suit that Joan wanted us to watch out for? You think that might be him?" Mack asked as he watched the man almost trip and fall.

"Could be. He's got on a hoodie on, but so do we." answered Joe as he took a big swig of the bottle. Handing it back to Mack for the last swallow, he leaned forward and tried to really see the man that had caught his eye.

Mack finished off the bottle and dropped it on the bench between them.

"Think maybe we should check him out?"

"Yeah, wouldn't hurt. Not like we got anything else to do. And we ain't got nothing else to drink, anyway." Joe said as he stood up.

Mack stretched out his legs and then his arms and stood up too. Watching the guy struggle to get to the fence by the river he nodded. "Besides, he might have something to share with us either way."

It didn't take long to catch up with the stumbling man. He was holding on to the fence to keep himself on his feet. He kept stopping and looking up at the bridge. Shaking his head he'd take a couple of more steps and stop again.

Mack and Joe hung back, not letting their presence be known. The guy they were following was in bad shape. They couldn't see his face but his movements were slow and obviously painful. The hoodie hung on him like it was way too big for him. He had a wild looking beard and his hair was long making it difficult to see his face.

The rules of life on the street were: you don't mess with anybody worse off than you unless you were a vulture, living off the pickings of truly lost souls. Neither Joe nor Mack were that kind. The group they lived with, with Joan, was a strong group of folks who had been together for quite a while and took good care of each other. That was why when Joan ask them to watch out for the man from the soup kitchen they did so without her having to ask again.

They stayed back but kept a close eye on the man they were following. Now curiosity had gotten the best of both of them. They still hadn't seen his face but they both felt he was the man Joan had been worried about.

______________

John was about at the end of his rope, literally and figuratively. He knew where he wanted to go. He knew what he wanted to do. He knew why he wanted, no, needed to do it. But he was having trouble getting his body to respond. He had lost quite a bit of weight in the last couple of weeks. He'd been drinking more than eating. There were parts of his body that hurt that hadn’t hurt in a long, long time. Not since he’d been in boot camp as a teen. The last couple of fights he'd been in he'd taken quite a few hard hits. Probably a broken rib or two. When he peed it was reddish pink which told him his kidney had gotten hit in that last fight. The shoes they'd given him at the Salvation Army were decent but they were really too small, making walking even more difficult. It took every bit of his concentration to put one foot in front of the other.

Keeping his mind blank, refusing to think of anything, especially Jessica, he pushed on. Thoughts of her made his heart actually ache. And that was the one hurt that stopped him in his tracks. He pushed any thought of her back into the a safe corner of his mind and watched his feet take one step after another.

It was taking forever to get to the stairs and the walkway on the bridge. Once he was there, he realized he was too weak to even attempt climbing them. He looked around and spotted the way leading to the main road over the bridge. It was another three blocks. GOD he was so tired. But this would soon be over.

Reese began the long walk to the center of the bridge. Even in the middle of the night there was traffic flowing in both directions. Everybody busy with their own lives, in their own little worlds. But his world ended in a hospital in New Rochelle. With one little sentence, "Jessica Arndt is dead". Even now, remembering that moment his breathing became labored and his heart felt as if someone had grabbed it and squeezed it until it stopped beating….because it did.

At the center of the bridge, he waited, taking another swig out of the bottle. Pretty good quality stuff. He was already feeling to effects. Looking down at the bottle he had about a quarter of it left. Might just be enough.

___________

Watching the guy they were following head up the GW, Joe turned to Mack, "I don't like this. I've seen too many people walking up that bridge but not coming down the same way. Think you might want to go get Joan."

Mack watched as the man shuffled ahead of them. Seeing the head down and the drooping shoulders certainly seemed like this might be a one way trip. Watching him stop and take a swig out of the bottle finally convinced him. "Yeah, you're right. He ain't plannin' on coming back. I'll go get Joan. If she kin help him good but if not, at least she can be there with him at the end." Mack spoke from experience. Sometimes it was just that little bit, the company of another human being that could make all the difference.

Joe felt in his pockets and came up with a ten dollar bill and some change. Giving it to Mack he looked at him. "Hurry." Nodding his head Mack took off at a jog after shoving the money in his pocket. They were going to need to take a taxi to get back here in time. In time for what he didn’t want to think about.

The guy was walking so slow Joe had to be careful he didn't get too close. BUT he also wanted to be close enough if he needed to be, just in case. Joan seemed to care about this guy for some reason and that was good enough for him.

____________

Trudging along on the edge of the bridge Reese stopped to check where he actually was on the bridge. Finding the one spot he could climb over the rails he settled down and made himself as comfortable as he could, sitting on metal. Leaning back on the girder he looked at the skyline of NYC. Lights twinkling in buildings, boats moving along the river, fog horns sounding in the distance. Everybody in their own little world. Asleep, awake or in between.

There was nothing there for him. There was no one for him. When he was gone nobody would even notice or even care. He'd worn another name so long, one that wasn't his, that he didn't even know who he was himself anymore. His entire world was wrapped up in a casket buried somewhere in New Rochelle. All he had left was pain. And Guilt. He honestly didn't know which hurt the most, the pain of losing Jessica or the guilt he could not escape from that he had failed her when she needed him most. The tears rolled down his cheeks. He was amazed he could still cry. Amazed he still had tears to cry.

Enough was enough. He was at peace with his decision. Tilting the bottle back one last time he drained it. Might as well end it now. No muss, no fuss. Just jump off the bridge.


	7. Chapter 7

The ride uptown in the old, dented taxi seem to take forever. Joan was glad her friends had found the man from the soup kitchen, but concerned by how Mack described him. He did not sound well at all. More importantly she was trying to figure out why this one man had caused her so much concern. She didn't know anything about him! She didn't even know his name! But for some reason, he mattered to her.

Mack kept an eye out and finally spotted Joe about a third of the way up to the highest point of the GW. Asking the driver to wait for them, Mack and Joan got out of the taxi and walked toward Joe. He waited for them to come to him but he was looking at something else. Or someone else.

Joan grabbed Joe's hand and squeezed tight. "Are we too late? Where is he?" she asked with a slight edge of panic in her voice. Joe turned toward her and smiled. "He's still with us Joan. But I get the feelin' he doesn't really want to be. He's holding onto that bottle with a death grip. "

Pulling her with him they walked up toward the apex of the bridge. It was huge, four lanes and sidewalks on both sides. Very few cars were on the bridge now. It was 3AM. Most folks were already where they wanted to be.

"He hasn't seen me. He's been mumbling to himself and shaking his head over and over. I think he's talking to himself. I'm too far away to understand anything he's saying. Do you want me to get closer? Do you want to get closer?"

Joan stood there, holding tight to Joe's hand. She recognized the profile of the man she'd been looking for but was shocked at the change in him. He definitely didn't look healthy. But there was more wrong here than just being sick or drunk.

Dropping Joe's hand she began to slowly walk toward the man. The closer she got the more concerned she became. He was sitting on the handrail, his legs hanging over the edge. He had walked past the sign about suicides, the sign that was suppose to stop him from doing what he seemed determined to do. All the warnings and help line telephone numbers in the world were no good if you are too blinded with guilt or grief to see them He was leaning back against a girder and his eyes were closed. She could see his mouth moving but she couldn't understand the words. He paused for a moment, opened his eyes and took a swallow from the bottle.

Closing his eyes again he leaned back. She was close enough to see the tears on his face. He was hurting. The pain came off of him in waves. Without realizing it, she reached out toward him. She was too far away to actually touch him but he must have heard her or detected the motion nearby.

He slowly turned toward her and looked directly at her. Then she knew. She knew instantly why she was drawn to him.

As always, even when he was drunk, he was acutely aware of his surroundings. He heard a noise off to the left, behind him along with a soft gasp. Opening his eyes he looked around and saw a woman. An older woman. She looked familiar. Reddish hair. Then he remembered. She had been at the soup kitchen he’d sometimes frequented. He'd seen her the last time he'd been there. He was drunk enough that the shock of seeing her here of all places didn't cause him too much alarm.

"What do you want?" his words were slurred from the alcohol. "Why are you here?"

He got no answer. He squinted at her, "Who are you?"

"My name is Joan. What's your name?"

John looked away, back toward the water below. Back at the water that seemed to beckon to him with a promise of no more pain, almost like a siren song that only he could hear.

What was his name? He had no name, he was nobody. He'd been living under a name that wasn’t his own. Either way, he didn't know and he didn't care. The only name that he'd had all his life was John. But nobody knew that anymore. All the people that mattered to him were dead. Those that didn't matter to him thought he was dead......so technically he was nobody.

Dropping his chin to his chest he found it harder and harder to breathe. It hurt to even take a breath. His back ached where his bruised kidney was. The ribs that he was pretty sure were broken felt like they were rubbing against each other with every breath. But it was the ache in the middle of his chest that hurt the most.

A moan escaped his mouth. He wanted to scream....to give into the rage that was building up inside of him but he was too weak. The rage manifested itself as tears, rolling down his cheeks. He angrily wiped them away with the heels of both hands. When he let go of the railing it made him sway....away from the girder and toward the dark waters below.

He heard that gasp again and turned angrily toward the woman. "Go away! Leave me alone!" He felt like he was yelling at her but it came out more like a whisper...with a sob at the end.

"Please tell me your name." she asked.

The gentleness of her voice reached a part of him that he thought no longer existed...his soul. He felt he had lost his soul when he lost Jessica.

"John." he whispered, with a catch in his voice, that ended in a strangled sob.

Again the tears rolled down his cheeks. This time he didn't wipe them away. Leaning his head back on the girder he looked at the night sky. He hoped Jessica would be waiting for him. If…...she forgave him for letting her leave him at the airport. If.....she forgave him for not protecting her from Peter’s fists. If..... she forgave him for failing her when she needed him the most. So damn many ‘ifs’. Oh God what if she didn't forgive him? She had to forgive him! She was his everything! He wanted to be with her, needed to be with her.

Looking down at the dark water he was ready. He was ready to end the pain that never went away. The pain that only got stronger as he got weaker. Enough.

Slowly standing, he stood up on the handrail. The dark water of the river was far below him. He wondered if it would hurt to die. It couldn't hurt more than what he had been feeling for the last month. Anything was better than continuing this miserable thing called life.

"John! Please! Don't do this."

There was that voice again. Reaching inside of him, willing him to listen. Another voice that was filled with pain though he didn’t understand why.

"John?"

Closing his eyes all he could do as slowly shake his head. He had survived three days of torture in Afghanistan and all they wanted was his name but he never gave it to them. She asked one time and he gave it up. Gave it up without even thinking. Why? Why now? Why her? Who was she? What did she want?

Clenching his eyes closed Reese slowly shook his head side to side. Rubbing his hands over his face in frustration he turned toward the woman. "Leave me alone! Go away!" he repeated.

"I can't. I can't leave you........"

"What? Why not? I don't even know you." Reese growled. "And you sure as hell don't know me...." Taking a deep breath and exhaling, he whispered, “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

Joan chose to ignore that last bit and spoke calmly, quietly even so that he’d have to strain to hear her, to LISTEN to her.

"In all honesty, I'm not really sure." she answered more to herself than him. "I just felt you were important from the first day I saw you in the soup kitchen." Joan slowly walked a little bit closer to John. "You didn't fit in there. You were new to the streets. Your clothes made you stand out." Looking closely at him in the dim lights from the bridge she could see the suit was gone and replaced by much more serviceable clothes for the streets.

Watching her face closely, Reese tilted his head to the side. "You still haven't told me why you are interested in me, why you care what I do. I DON’T KNOW YOU". He carefully enunciated his last words. “And you sure as hell don’t want to know me. It’s best for everyone if you don’t. Knowing me only brings death.”

Looking down at her hands Joan tried to figure out herself why she was here. Why stopping this man from doing what she knew he came here for, was so important to her. Afterall, for all she knew, he could be a murderer or a rapist or a child molester. But deep down, she knew he was none of these things. She’d known the moment she’d looked him in the face and saw what was in his eyes. Or to be accurate, what was behind his eyes. "You remind me of someone I once knew........"

There it was again. That pain in her voice. He could tell from the way she said it, that it was not something she showed very often or to very many people. Looking at her standing there, she looked like most of the people he'd seen on the streets and in the shadows. He realized his clothes looked like hers......layers of mismatched clothes whose main purpose was to blend in and stay warm.

But she was different. He'd noticed her the second time he'd gone to the soup kitchen. He'd felt her looking at him. The ability to sense when eyes were on him had been drilled into him by Stanton. But he didn't want to be seen, didn't want to be noticed. He'd gone for the food and left. He knew that his clothes were getting him noticed for the wrong reasons. He'd been glad to finally ditch the remains of his suit and the past it represented. That suit was from another life and another world and he was no longer a member of either one.

John out waited her. He'd be damned if he'd ask her who he reminded her of because he didn't care. He just wanted her gone.

"You remind me of my son............."

Even in the depths of his own pain, John responded to the pain he could hear in her voice. He disengaged from the darkness that was swallowing him. His own pain temporarily tamped down and his look became wary, less belligerent.

"Your son?" he asked in spite of himself.

"Yes, my son. He's gone now. I...I lost him two years ago."

His biggest weakness, one that he’d worked his entire time in the CIA to expunge, was reacting to someone in pain. It didn't matter if it was physical, mental or emotional pain. If the pain was there, he felt it. Bad guys in pain got killed quickly, efficiently, unlike Kara who had liked to prolong it. Those weaker than him, he felt drawn to help, to save, to stop their pain if he could. And that was his reaction to this woman and the pain she was sharing with him...a woman who was still mourning her son.

But why did he care? He didn't know her and he sure as hell didn't know her son. He was ready to ease his own pain and end it all. Surely there was no pain in the afterlife. Unless you were damned because of the things you did during your life. That was probably what he had to look forward to. He'd done so many bad things in the name of his country. And pushing Jessica away and into the arms of her killer was THE worst thing he had done. So chances were his afterlife would be even more painful. Didn't really matter, he was done here.

Turning away from Joan, was that her name? he faced the water again. Willing himself to let go and just fall. With nothing left for him here, the nothingness below called to him. His mind was swimming within itself. Memories good and bad swirled around. Looking down was suddenly making him dizzy. He felt himself swaying. The girder he'd been holding onto was slippery. The moisture in the air above the river had coated the metal. Closing his eyes he used his free hand to rub his face.

Why did he feel clammy? He realized he wasn't feeling very good. Opening his eyes he looked across the river and things were blurry. Looking down at his feet they were blurry. Turning to look back at the woman she was blurry. What the hell was going on? Blinking his eyes didn't help anymore than rubbing them did. He felt dizzy, very disoriented. But that was ok.....all he had to do was take one step forward and leave all this behind.

Letting go of the girder he found his balance and took that one step.

As his body fell forward into space he was jerked back toward the bridge. Hands had grabbed him. Grabbed his arm and his leg. The force that jerked him back also jerked him hard into the girder behind him. His head hit with a resounding thunk.

Mack and Joe had crept around to the man’s other side while he had been talking to Joan. They knew exactly why he was there and they both felt like, who ever this guy was, he didn't plan on leaving the bridge alive. Because Joan seemed to care about this guy, they were willing to try and stop him.

After hitting his head hard on the metal girder, Reese went boneless, having been knocked unconscious. Holding onto him by one arm and one leg was extremely difficult. Both men thought they were going to lose him; he was a dead weight in their arms.

Joan screamed out "John!" at the same moment he had taken that step which was also the same moment they had grabbed him. Joan rushed up toward the men, determined to help in any way she could.

Between the three of them they were finally able to pull the unconscious man back onto the walkway. There was a huge gash on the back of his head where he'd banged it on the girder. Blood was pooling under his head.

Joan checked him out quickly and was relieved to see he was breathing on his own. He was badly hurt, but at least he was alive. It would be the ultimate irony if they had killed him with a knock on the head while trying to save the man’s life! She wasn't sure if he needed professional help like an ER or if she could take care of him at the camp. She quickly decided the latter. He'd been on the streets escaping something so she didn't think he'd want the be seen at an ER. Besides, they were pretty good at taking care at each other in the camp since none of them had any kind of insurance.

Sending Mack to bring the taxi to them, Joan went to work trying to stop the bleeding. A sizable bump was now visible. Good news was that the swelling seemed to have slowed down the bleeding.

Loading John into the taxi wasn't easy but they got it done. Mack and Joe rode up front while John was in the back with his head in Joan's lap. Joan took this time to really look at him. Now that she knew why she was drawn to him, she was determined to learn more about him. She felt she had been right the first time she’d seen him. He was definitely did not belong on the streets. Even with his eyes closed and his features relaxed, she realized he was a good looking man. In his unconscious state he no longer had that pained, lost and angry look to his face.

Arriving at the warehouse that served as their primary “home” , they were able to get John out of the taxi and carry him through to the back where Joan's area was. She had left in such a hurry when Mack had come for her, she'd left her buggie unguarded. But someone had put it back in her corner of the world that she’d blocked off with hanging blankets. Because of her stature in the community, she had one of the bigger spaces with the most privacy. She'd never been more thankful for that than she was now. Bringing someone unknown into the group was always risky, and even homeless people are nosy. She wasn’t ready to share John with the group, not yet.

Once they got John stretched out on what served as Joan’s bed, she sent Mack and Joe out for water and to round up any first aid items they could find.

Digging into her buggie she pulled out her scant few personal first aid items to check what she had. A couple of the bandages she had rescued from a doctor's office trash were past their use by date and the box had been opened but not all the items had been used. Most of the medical supplies she had were that type, open boxes but not complete sets. Thank goodness people were so wasteful, otherwise Joan and her friends would have been in truly dire straits. People threw away so much that was still good!

Mack was the first to return with a couple of bottles of water. Joe followed him with some towels and rags that were mostly new and at least clean. Thanking them for their help Joan shooed them out so she could tend to John alone. Instinctively she knew he'd respond better to seeing only her when he woke up. If he woke up.

Using the water Joan began cleaning his face and checked on the gash on the back of his head. Even as she turned his head, he made no sound. That gave her cause to worry....she at least expected to hear a groan or a moan from him, but she got nothing but silence.

The bleeding had stopped but the bump on the back of his head had not gone down any. Padding it as best she could, she wrapped a strip of cloth around his head to control any bleeding if it started again. She loosened the muffler around his neck and unzipped the hoodie in an attempt to make him more comfortable.

She was shocked at how thin he was. He had lost quite a bit of weight since she'd first seen him. How long ago was that? A little over a month. She recognized the effects of drinking alcohol instead of eating. Was he actively trying to kill himself? Or maybe he just didn't care? What had driven him to this low point?

Sitting back after cleaning him up and making him comfortable, Joan finally had time to really study the mystery man named John. His hair had gotten quite a bit longer since the first time she had seen him in the soup kitchen. He hadn't had a beard back then either, just a kind of scruff. But now he had a full grown, untrimmed beard. Between that and the current layered clothes he had on, he looked like he belonged on the streets. He looked homeless. She had a feeling he truly WAS homeless, with no group of people to live with like her own community. That made life even harder on the streets.

He suddenly started mumbling and twitching, catching her off guard. Shaking his head back and forth he mumbled louder and louder. He kept making fists with his hands and then shaking them. Joan leaned over to try and calm him, calling his name out quietly. At first he didn't respond but his movements became less frantic and finally slowed down completely. Placing her hand on his cheek she was surprised it was warm. Using both hands she held his face on each side of his jaw. There was definitely fever there.

Concern about possible infection, Joan checked the bandage on his head, but it was clean and dry. She didn't think the fever was from that. Brushing his hair back from his forehead she could feel the heat radiating from him.

John surprised her by opening his eyes and looking right at her. There was no recognition in that look, just the glassy look of high fever. She was at a loss of what to do. He was obviously very sick. She'd been worried about that when she saw him on the bridge. The fever confirmed it.

"Where am I?" he asked hoarsely. "Who are you?"

Joan felt these were different questions than what he'd asked on the bridge. This was something quite different. There was fear in eyes. He tried to sit up but was too weak. Joan spoke softly and held her ground.

"My name is Joan. You got hurt and I brought you to my home to take care of you." She figured honesty would work best with him, for the moment, trying not to be too detailed. She doubted he could handle or even understand about where she had found him and what he had been about to do.

John reached up and felt the bandage on his head and then found the heavily padded area over the bump. It was quite tender but he could tell someone had taken care of his injury, so that much of what this woman said was true.

"I think you may also be sick. You've got a fever. You really need to drink water." she said as she handed him one of the bottles that Mack had brought her. John took the bottle and drank it dry. That helped immensely.

Suddenly the blanket doorway moved and Joe stuck his head in. "How's he doing Joan? He wake up yet?"

John's reaction to Joe's presence was instantaneous. He'd been too weak to sit up moments ago but fear galvanized him into moving. He was in a defensive crouch immediately. He closed his eyes against the dizziness he felt.

Putting out her hand to steady him, Joan spoke quietly. "John, it is ok. Joe is a friend. Joe helped bring you here so I could help you." Staying calm and talking softly she felt John relax under her hand. He opened his eyes and looked at her and then Joe.

Joe had not moved since John had sprung into a defensive posture. He recognized military training immediately. Waiting for a signal from Joan, he stayed still and didn't say anything else.

"John, you need to relax and sit back down. Or lay down, that would probably be the best." She let him decide and make the move.

Once he was lying back down, Joan turned to Joe. "He's got fever and it's not from that bump on the head. I think he was sick before he even went to the bridge. Can you see if anybody has got any medicines they can spare?"

Nodding his head but saying nothing, Joe backed out of the blanket doorway.

He returned with a couple of aspirin and ibuprofen. There was even some old antibiotics! Joan smiled at the kindness of her community of street people. They didn't have much but they shared what they had for someone in need.

Giving John a couple of aspirin to take and a dose of the antibiotic, she handed him another bottle of water. Putting away the other meds for later, she looked back at John. He had finished off the second bottle of water and looked like he was just about asleep again. That was probably the best thing for him now. It would give her some time to find him something to eat. She had a couple of cans of soup in her buggie she could fix for him when he woke up.


	8. Chapter 8

John slept for over 10 hours. His fever got higher and Joan was able to get him to take more aspirin and another dose of antibiotic. She only had one more dose left; she hoped that was enough. He had dropped right back off to sleep.

It was a very restless sleep. His mumbling became louder and she was finally able to pick out some words. The one name he repeated over and over was Jessica. She could discern anger and sadness in the tone of his mumbled voice even if she couldn't understand the words. Watching him closely during those moments of distress, she had the very strong feeling that this woman, Jessica, had a lot to do with why he was on that bridge. Maybe even with why he was on the streets? Maybe she'd find out later from him, if he was willing to talk to her.

Joan watched over John for the next two days as his fever came and went. He'd be burning up and then the fever would break and he'd start shivering. She did the best she could with the medicine she had but they were almost all gone. She hated to ask for more for someone who was so new to the group and hadn't proven his worth yet.

_________

She spent the the morning of the second day cleaning up the area where they were both sleeping. The little bit of privacy she had for herself with the hanging blankets had been a blessing. There was a lot of curiosity about the stranger she'd brought in the other night. She didn't want any questions about him because she didn't have any answers yet.

Suddenly she felt she was being watched. She turned toward the area where the flap for the doorway was but no one was there. Turning back to the work she'd been doing, she still felt like she was being watched. She turned the other way and was surprised to see John awake and staring at her.

Not knowing how long he might have been awake, she moved quickly over to check on him. Reaching her hand out to check for fever she was surprised when he pulled away from her.

"John, how are you feeling?" she asked quietly. She got no response. He just continued to stare at her. Once again she reached out to check for fever and he pulled away again. He struggled to sit up.

"John, I'm not going to hurt you. I just need to check to see if you still have a fever. Are you feeling any better?"

Looking at him, she kept her hands in her lap and really looked at him. He didn't look like he was running fever. His color was good. His eyes didn't have that glazed look he'd had the last two days. Maybe he was finally getting better.

"May I please see if you have fever? I promise I won't do anything else but put my hand on your forehead." she said softly. Slowly he nodded his head but never said a word nor made a sound, but his eyes watched her warily.

Raising her hand, she pressed it against his forehead. She was relieved that he felt cool to the touch, normal.

"Would you like something to drink? Some water?" Slowly reaching around she picked up a bottle of water and opened it. She held it out to him. He looked at the water dubiously and then back at her.

“Aren’t you thirsty? You have to be after that fever. Go ahead.” She said coaxingly. Still he didn’t take it. Frowning, she thought about it for a second and then reached over and grabbed a new bottle of water. This time, an unopened one. She once again offered him the water and this time he took it, never taking his eyes off her Tipping it up he took a couple of big swallows.

"Easy John. You've been sick and you've had nothing to eat for a couple of days. I don't think your stomach will handle too much at one time."

Again, never taking his eyes off of her, he nodded.

"I know you're probably hungry. Would you like some soup? I think that would be best for you right now." Again he nodded, but didn’t make a sound.

__________________

Watching Joan move around, John took his time checking out his surroundings. He wasn't really sure how he’d gotten here. He remembered seeing her on the bridge. But after that it was fuzzy. He was trying to remember but then his head began to ache. Reaching up with one hand he felt a tender spot on the back of his head under a bandage. How did he get hurt? Nothing was making much sense.

Looking around he realized the walls were not really walls at all, they were blankets. Looking up he saw there was rope strung across holding up the blankets. The ceiling was far over his head. He must be in a large building? A warehouse? Then he noticed the sounds. Voices. Lots of voices. And he could smell food cooking. That made his stomach react. He WAS hungry. Looking over at Joan again he saw she was heating up a pot on a camp stove of some sort. He was definitely willing to eat whatever she offered. For some reason he felt safe here. Opening the bottle again he took another couple of swallows. His throat felt raw but the water tasted good and seemed to revive him somewhat.

___________________

Joan handed John the bowl of soup and turned back to get her own. She waited til she could hear him eating the soup before she turned back around. He was obviously hungry by the way he attacked the soup. He certainly hadn't eaten in the two days he'd been here.

All the while, he never took his eyes off of Joan. It was almost unnerving, that direct stare that seemed to take in everything. But it was was his silence that gave her pause. He had spoken a little on the bridge. He had mumbled during his bouts of fever, but never enough to put anything together.

There was something about this man that reached out to her. She felt she was seeing her son. He had that same lost look on his face that she had seen on her son’s face. John had seemed big and strong the first time she had seen him, but something had happened in his life that almost destroyed him; something that had left deep, life-long scars. That unknown pain called to her, like a call for help, as something she could help him with, or at least help him deal with. It probably centered around the name he kept calling out: Jessica. She felt she’d done the right thing in stopping him from jumping off that bridge. To her, he was definitely seemed worth saving.

"Be careful how fast you eat. You haven't had anything other than water for at least a couple of days." She paused to see if he was listening. He had stopped spooning the soup in his mouth and looked at her. She hoped it was because of what she said......that he was actually listening to her.

"Just take your time eating, that's all. There's a little more left if you want it later. Sorry I don't have crackers or anything to go with it." She finished up her own soup and placed the bowl and the spoon on the box that served as a table.

"I figured you might be wondering how you got here. Two friends of mine, Joe and Mack, found you up on the George Washington bridge. They said you looked like you were going to do something stupid." Hoping for a reaction from what she had said, she was disappointed. Nothing, just a blank stare.

Continuing her one-sided conversation, "I'd been watching for you since I saw you at the soup kitchen. You kind of stood out from the rest of us with that suit on. Glad to see you finally ditched that for some more serviceable clothes. Also makes you fit in better."

She noticed he'd finally finished his bowl of soup. She picked up the pot and carefully poured the rest of the soup into his bowl. The only acknowledgement she got from him was a nod. He took his time finishing the second bowl.

Sitting up seemed to tire him out. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Joan took the bowl and spoon back from him and gave him another bottle of water. She went ahead and gave him the last 2 aspirins she had.

"Go ahead and lay back down. Nobody is going to bother you back here. This is my area and nobody comes in here without asking."

Taking the two bowls, the spoons and the pot with her, she opened the flap that covered the doorway and left.

John slept another ten hours or so. Every so often Joan checked him for fever but he was cool to the touch. But he didn't wake up when she checked either. His sleep was deep and apparently dreamless because there was no mumbling or thrashing around this time.

Sharing her sleeping area with someone was not a totally unique experience for Joan. She'd been on the streets for many years but had only shared this area with one person. Her son. Lying there at night, hearing John moving slightly, sighing deeply or snoring, brought back a feeling of longing for her son. During the previous nights, he had been racked with fever, mumbling and calling out to Jessica. The angry thrashing around was too reminiscent of those other times with her son that were painful.

Joan woke up smelling coffee. They didn't get that often in the camp. Somebody must have scored big yesterday. Sitting up she was surprised to see John was also awake and sitting up.

"Good morning John, you sleep ok last night?" All she got in response was a look. Not even a change of expression.

Taking a deep breath Joan made a deliberately loud sigh. "Well, I guess you're not going to be talking to me today. Had nothing to say yesterday either.. That's ok. You'll talk when you're ready."

Getting up and she put her only coat back on. Shrugging her shoulders to get it to settle down in a comfortable spot she leaned over her buggie that was next to her bed. It was never far from her. Everything that meant anything to her was in that buggie. She dug out a coffee cup and looked at John.

"You want a cup of coffee? Or more water?"

John didn't answer, just looked at her. It seemed like he was weighing something. Coffee or Water? Answer or not answer? His expression was unreadable. Once again she was struck by the shrewd intelligence she saw in his eyes.

"Hell, I'll just bring you both." She said with exasperation and walked out.

Joan walked to the center of the camp. Following her nose, she found the source of the coffee smell. Quite a few people were gathered around talking and several called out ‘Good morning’ to her. She exchanged pleasantries along the way but she kept walking toward the coffee pot she could see on the 'stove'. Many a meal had been cooked on the 'camp stove' which was a barrel turned upside down over a fire. A vent cut into the side at the bottom allowed air to get in & feed the fire. The top had been seriously cleaned and scrubbed. There were actually two coffee pots on the heated surface.

The group closest to the stove parted and allowed Joan to join them. She held out her one coffee cup. One of the women carefully poured her a full cup. There was no sugar to sweeten it. They all drank it black out of necessity.

"How's your new friend doing Joan?" "What's his name?" "Did you know him before you brought him here?" "Where's he from?" She was surrounded by questions. She wasn't angry about it. Everybody was curious when someone new showed up. They were nosy out of curiosity as well as for safety’s sake. Unknown is unknown and could be dangerous.

"His name is John. He's been sick but I think he's over that. I don't have a lot to tell you about him because he's been sleeping." She paused and looked at the faces of the people surrounding her. They were her friends. Many she had known for years. Their safety was as important to her as much as her own.

"I promise to tell you what I know, when I know it. I don't think he is a threat to us." Looking around she found two bottles of water and gathered them up. Turning around she made her way back to her area in the back of the warehouse.

She called out to John before she opened the flap, not wanting to surprise him. From watching him react to sudden sounds she knew he was on edge and could be potentially dangerous. But she truly felt he was not a danger to her or anyone else here, only to himself.

Opening the flap she walked in with the cup of coffee and the water bottles. She handed him a bottle and kept one for herself. "We're going to have to share this cup of coffee. It is a very rare occasion to have coffee here. Normally we only get it at the soup kitchen."

Sitting down near him she took a sip of the coffee and held the cup out to him. After only a moment of hesitation he reached for the cup. Taking a sip for himself he handed it back to her. The coffee was strong and bitter but tasted pretty damn good. Closing his eyes for a moment he savored the heat and the taste on his tongue.

Sipping the coffee, Joan was impressed with the change in John with the couple of swallows of coffee. They don't call it the 'miracle elixir' for nothing! Between the two of them they finished the cup rather quickly.

"Thank you." John said softly, looking at Joan.

Joan's answering smile was enough to bring a small smile on his face. "You're welcome!"

Opening her bottle of water Joan decided it was time to get him to talk. "In case you don’t remember, my name is Joan. We met the other night on the GW under dubious circumstances. Do you remember?"

John looked away from Joan when she mentioned the bridge. 'Damn, did I try too soon? I hope not. This silent treatment is getting old!' thought Joan.

"I figure you have questions about how you got here, and about where 'here' is. I'll be glad to answer any questions you've got." Watching him she wasn't sure he even heard her.

"My friends Joe and Mack saw you walking up the GW bridge. I had asked them to be on the lookout for you." THAT got his attention. He turned back to her but said nothing.

"You kind of stood out at the soup kitchen that first time; kinda hard to ignore. We don't get people in suits down there." She paused to see if he would say anything, but he was still mum.

"They said you didn't look real good. And people don't normally walk on the GW at night except for one reason. A bad reason. So bad that they had to post those blue and white signs about it. And information and a telephone number to call if you needed help." Taking a swallow from her own water bottle she watched him. He was obviously listening to her, listening very closely.

"Mack came back and brought me to the bridge. Do you remember seeing me there?" This time she got a nod.

"Do you remember us talking? I told you my name and you told me yours." His face was expressionless but his eyes had taken on a different look. Of what she wasn't sure, but she knew she had his attention.

"I will say you talked more on the bridge than you have here. You kept telling me to go away, that you didn't know me. You'll find out I don't do too good with people telling me what to do. I pretty much go my own way." She said with a small smile.

"Anyway, you slipped and almost fell off the bridge. A fall from that height into the river would have probably killed you. Joe and Mack grabbed you just as you slipped. But they pulled you back so hard your head hit the bridge beam and knocked you out. It took all three of us to pull you back over the railing to safety."

"I didn't slip.” John’s eyes took on an inward look. He paused so long she thought she’d lost him again, but he finally continued, “I was going to jump. Why didn't you let me go? Why did you pull me back?" John whispered, looking at Joan.

"I already told you why.” Joan responded, carefully watching his reaction. “Do you remember what I said?" She knew he had deliberately stepped off that bridge but she figured he would correct her, and he did. She'd finally got him talking.

John frowned and was obviously trying to figure out what she told him and when.

Joan watched with great interest as John was searching his memory. She recognized the minute it came to him, he almost smiled. At least she thought she saw a smile. "On the bridge. You said something about your son.........."

She nodded. "Yep, I told you that I couldn't leave you because you reminded me of my son."

"Why do I remind you of your son?"

Carefully choosing her next words Joan replied, "I'll make you a deal, a bargain. I'll tell you about my son…if you'll tell me about Jessica." John's reaction was electric. For one brief moment, Joan saw an open, unguarded John. Then the walls came up as he shut down, turning away.

Sitting there, Joan decided to out wait him. She had pegged him as someone who didn't like having unanswered questions. This one being the unknown connection between him and her son. But would his obvious reluctance to talk about something emotional, as this Jessica seemed to be to him, outweigh his need to know?

John stood up, carefully averting his eyes. Zipping up his hoodie he moved the door flap aside and walked out. Joan was left looking at the empty space where he had been sitting.

'Well that didn't go as planned' thought Joan. 'Guess he's not ready yet.' Standing up she shrugged her shoulders. 'Oh well.' She turned toward her buggie and began going through the newest items she had picked up.


	9. Chapter 9

John stopped as soon as he stepped out of Joan's area. He had not been out into the warehouse since he had been brought in unconscious. He was astounded at the number of people inside. He'd been able to hear them talking and moving around outside the blanket walls, but he’d had no idea just how many were there.

The sound died down as people realized he had appeared outside of Joan's enclosure. Whispering got louder and louder as word spread about his sudden appearance. John didn't feel any threat from their interest, just curiosity. Looking a few of them in the eye he was surprised that quite a few smiled at him.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded at those who smiled and started walking, heading toward the direction where he could see daylight. Once outside he stopped again. He had no idea where he was. Looking left and right, nothing looked familiar. He was in a warehouse district. He was surrounded by buildings very similar to one behind him. There was little to no street traffic and nobody walking on the sidewalks.

The angle of the sun showed him it was morning. As that thought occurred to him, he remembered the coffee that Joan had shared with him. That made he think of Joan, which made him think about how much she had done for him, unasked.

That last thought made him bow his head. Joan had taken him in, taken care of him without being asked. And when she did ask for information, not money for that help, something she could obviously use, he'd walked out on her.

A couple came up behind him, leaving the warehouse. Saying 'excuse me' they stepped around him and walked down the street. Shortly thereafter, a man came out and actually bumped into him. "Sorry bud." and he continued on his way across the street. Realizing he was standing in front of the doorway, John turned to the right, the opposite direction of the couple and began walking.

Once he got to the corner he stopped. Again, nothing looked familiar. Feeling dizzy and light headed, John realized he was weaker than he thought. Turning the corner, out of sight of the doorway, he sat down on the sidewalk and leaned back against the building. Staring up the the cloudless blue sky he thought about Joan's offer.

______  
Joan stepped out of her area and was met by almost half of the camp. "Where did he go?" "What did he tell you?" "Who is he?" "Where is he from?" were the few questions she could understand over all the ones being asked. Holding her hand up for quiet, she smiled. "I don't know any more than I did earlier. I told you I'd tell you what I know when I know it." Most people smiled and walked away grumbling.

Joe came up to her as everybody left. "Where did he go?" she asked.

"Out the door. Mack said he turned right but didn't follow him." Giving him a quick hug, Joan headed toward the warehouse door, grabbing two bottles of water to take with her.

Out on the street Joan stopped and looked for John. She didn't see him in either direction. The only real choice was to go right and see if she could find him. Approaching the end of the block, she saw something at the corner that looked like the legs of someone sitting on the ground. Smiling to herself she walked up to the corner and looked down. Reese looked up at her but then looked away.

She tapped him on the shoulder with one of the water bottles and offered it to him. Looking at the bottle Reese, thought for a moment then took it. Waving his right hand he invited her to sit down with him on the sidewalk.

Walking around him, Joan eased her way down til she was seated on the sidewalk next to him. Leaning back against the wall like John was, she unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and took a long swallow. Putting the cap back on she gave a big sigh and leaned her head back against the wall.

"Well? Do we have a deal?"

Squinting his eyes a little against the glare of the morning sun, John nodded.

"Good. I'll make it easy for you. I'll go first." smiled Joan.

"My son's name was Daniel." Joan said softly. John immediately picked up on her use of the past tense. He'd had a feeling that her son was no longer alive. Then he remembered the conversation on the bridge. She’d said she lost him two years ago. He felt her sadness as a physical thing.

"He was my only child. Raised him on my own after his father died. Wasn't easy. " she continued. Memories played in her mind's eye. "We didn't have much but after Danny’s dad died we had even less. By the time Danny was 16 years old we had no home of our own. We lived in different shelters. Our time would run out in one and we'd move to another shelter. Eventually there was no place but the streets."

"Danny dropped out of high school before he turned 18. That was one of the saddest days of my life. I felt like such a failure. I couldn’t provide a home for my child and now he was giving up his only chance to make something of himself." Joan's voice got lower and lower as she talked, the pain becoming clearer in her voice.

"But things got worse. He got himself into some trouble. I'm not going to go into detail. Let's just say the last thing he did was bad enough to get him up before a judge. The public defender wasn't a great help but.........what's wrong is still wrong. " Again Joan paused as memories crowded one on top of another.

John turned to look at her. He was struck by the heartache so evident in her face. Even though she was the one who wanted to make the deal, it was obvious she was having a hard time continuing. She still hadn't said why he reminded her of her son.

John hadn't grown up on the streets. He'd lived at home with his mother and sister. His dad had died when he was 10 years old. Unlike her son, he hadn't dropped out of high school, he'd graduated. But he too had gotten into trouble right out of high school. Maybe that was the connection. Then he knew.

"Was your son in the military?" John asked.

"What?" John's voice brought Joan back to the present. "Was he in the military?

“Yes, he was."

"Did the judge offer him a choice of jail or the military?"

The question caught Joan off guard. She looked at John with surprise. "Yes, how did you know that?"

"Because that's how I ended up in the military." John said looking away. He'd already told her more than he meant to.

Joan turned to face John and put her hand on his arm. "I knew it. I knew it the minute I saw you that first time. There was something different about you compared to the other folks there. And not just because you had on a suit. It was the way you moved. You were aware of everybody around you." Looking a way for a moment, Joan tried to find the words to describe what she had felt and what she had seen that first day.

"You weren't scared. You looked prepared, capable. Guess that was your military training." Biting her lip she tried to remember his actions the other times she’d seen him at the soup kitchen. "Got my curiosity up. You're pretty slippery. Tried to see where you went when you left but by the time I'd get to the door you were gone!"

"But it was when I saw you on that bridge, thinking about doing something bad, I knew why you caught my eye." Joan was looking at John with such intensity that he could feel it. Turning his head, he was looking directly into her eyes. "You had the same lost look on your face as my son had.......the last...the last time I saw him."

So her son hadn't died in front of her. "Why was that the last time you saw him?"

Bowing her head for a moment to get herself back together, Joan was surprised at how deeply it hurt to talk about her son out loud. She hadn't really talked to anybody about him after he’d died. Grief and shame played equal roles in her silence. She’d kept it all inside.

Raising her head she turned toward John and said, "That's enough from me right now. It's your turn."

Breaking eye contact, John stared out in front of him, not seeing anything, not even the warehouse across the street. Joan noticed a moment of panic in his eyes. He definitely did not want to talk about himself.

"We made a deal and I don’t think you’re one who goes back on his word." Joan challenged him.

Watching the emotions flashing over his face, Joan wondered how deep the story of Jessica was. He looked like it was buried way down. Finally John took a deep breath and held it. Exhaling slowly, she could tell he'd made a decision.

"Jessica was someone I knew..." he whispered, "...a long time ago, a lifetime ago."

The lack of information in that one sentence spoke volumes to Joan. She'd gotten pretty good at reading between the lines with people. On the streets you lived by your wits, staying one step ahead. John wasn't going to give up anything without a struggle.........hell, without a hell of a fight!

"We were ........." he took so long to continue she was about to nudge him, but he finally continued. ".......involved. But we broke up." he finished, with obvious effort.

"Why?" Joan prompted softly. She knew there had to be more to his story. The pain he was carrying around didn’t come from a break-up with just any woman. She wanted John to admit what she was beginning to suspect...that he’d lost THE one. And he’d had something to do with it. At least HE thought so. Nothing else would explain the self-destructive behaviors.

"I was deployed. More than once." Images from 'over there' played through his memory. He hadn't talked to anybody about his time in the military in a long while. He kept getting lost in the memories he'd kept locked down.

"And? She didn't like you being gone? She didn't like being alone?" Joan prompted.

"No, nothing like that. I was the one that broke it off." John whispered with a catch in his throat. Guilt from that decision threatened to overrun his thoughts, dragging him back down into the abyss. He abruptly stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. He needed to get away. Get away from what, he wasn't sure.


	10. Chapter 10

He started off down the street, leaving Joan staring after him. She scrambled up and went after him. Being taller than her, with longer legs he was moving away quickly. She was almost jogging by the time she caught up with him.

Reaching out she touched his arm, but he snatched it away and sped up walking. Hurrying after him she tried again but this time she grabbed his arm.

"John!" she almost shouted. "What are you running from? The past? Why? You can't change it."

That stopped him cold. Staring down the street he wasn’t really seeing anything around himself. Everything was going on inside of him. Inside his head. AND his heart. Joan was right.

With her forward momentum, Joan almost went by John. But her hand on his arm held her back. Looking up at his face she knew she had finally connected. Connected to whatever part of his past that seemed to be haunting him.

Letting go, she shrugged her shoulders to get her coat to fall back into place. She wasn't used to moving so fast down the street. Normally she had her buggie and moved at a leisurely pace, checking out her surroundings for anything of interest while meanwhile trying to be aware of who was around her. On the streets danger of some sort was everywhere.

John didn't seem inclined to talk so she decided to take the lead again and push ahead. It wasn't easy for her to talk about her past either. Her past centered around her son. Everything began and ended with him. Maybe it was time for her to talk about him, really talk about him.

"I'm familiar with trying to run away from the past. Took me awhile to figure out I couldn't change it." she glanced at John to make sure he was listening. He was looking straight ahead, not at her, but she caught the slight nod of his head.

"Let's keep walking. I don't feel like sharing with folks back at the camp." Taking a couple of steps she was pleased to hear his footsteps behind her. Suddenly his hands were on her shoulders, carefully moving her to the inside of the sidewalk, away from the street. That move made her smile. Her son had done the same thing, always making sure he was on the outside when they walked together. When she'd asked him about it he told her it was something he'd learned in the military: Danger came from the road. Memories like that had the ability to make her happy and sad at the same time.

"I finally figured out that the past can't be changed, no matter how much you want it to, no matter how much you wish it never happened." Shaking her head Joan walked on with Reese keeping pace beside her. "I didn't talk to many people about losing my son. People in the camp knew. But you'll find we're all kinda private folk. Most of us have secrets we don't want to share. We pick and choose who we talk to and what we talk about."

"Once I was able to accept that past, then I was finally able to move on." Joan became lost in her own thoughts as they turned the corner and continued walking. "It was hard to move on. That took a lot of effort, accepting that my son was gone and not coming back."

"How did you do it? How did you quit reaching for the past and trying to change it?" John asked quietly, deep in his own thoughts.

"I had one friend in the camp. We’d known each other for years. She was there when Danny and I first ended up on the streets." Joan smiled at the memory. "She showed us how to survive."

"When someone literally holds your life in their hands you learn to trust them. I don't trust many people but I trusted her. She was there when my son dropped out of school. She was there when he got in trouble. Went with me to court." Memories of how much her friend had taken care of her filled her with longing. "She helped me the day he left for the military. I cried a long time that day, but she was always there to take care of me. Showing me how to pick up the pieces."

"What happened to her?" John had caught the use of past tense again.

"She got sick about a year ago. Doctors said it was pneumonia. It was that bad winter with all the snow. We had so much trouble staying warm and dry." Joan's longing for her friend was evident in her voice. "I miss her. I miss having her to talk to."

"Anyway, she took care of me when I needed it most. She also made me face the facts. Best thing she ever said to me was, 'You can't change the past but you can change how it affects you'". Turning toward John she hoped he was listening to her.

"John, you lost this woman Jessica. She obviously meant a lot to you. You can't bring her back. But you get to decide how her loss will affect you. Only you can decide. I could tell you were planning to 'join her'. At least that is what I suspected you were trying to do on that bridge. Seems like the coward's way out to me. If you meant as much to her as she meant to you, you know she wouldn’t have wanted that."

Getting no response from John, Joan still felt there was a lot more story about John and Jessica. But she figured she'd pushed him enough for one day. Besides, she really didn't want to talk any more about her son today either. By the time she'd come to that decision they had walked around the block and were back at the door of the warehouse, which seemed like a good stopping point.

Eating lunch with some of her closer friends in the camp, Joan introduced John. He was met with friendly smiles but also open curiosity. He wasn't much up on the smile part but he was friendly enough to be accepted. Joan had brought him into the camp and she approved of him and that was good enough for others in the camp.

That afternoon, Joan took John out with her and her buggie and introduced him to life on the streets. For John this was a different type of education than he’d had at the CIA. That experience had taught him a lot of survival skills for being in foreign countries and hostile environments but living on the streets was different. Everyday, insignificant things that looked normal, could get you mugged or in worse case, killed. Even items of trash took on a new significance. Joan was showing him a whole new lifestyle under the radar of everyday life.

Over the next few weeks, life took on a 'routine' that became comforting to John. He enjoyed his time with Joan. She was a calming influence when the edges of darkness came and his ghosts came calling. She was getting good at seeing the signs before he even realized it.

Talking about their pasts was healing for both of them. Joan carefully rationed out how much she told John just so she could keep him talking. The more John talked the more she realized exactly why she was drawn to him, why she felt such a strong need to help him. It all tied to her and to her son’s death.  
_______

John's internal clock, the one that he'd developed when he was in the CIA, allowed him to be fairly accurate about time of day. He made sure they were on time for breakfast at the soup kitchen. No more getting the leftovers because of arriving late. This unique ability had also morphed into an internal calendar of sorts. He always knew what day of the week it was. To Joan, every day was nearly the same but he even knew what the day of the month it was.

John knew he’d been in NYC for almost two months. One month was spent alone on the streets, drinking himself to oblivion and/or fighting anybody, anywhere, anytime. Sometimes both.

And now he realized tomorrow would be the two month mark since he'd heard those words that took away his future, that Jessica was dead. And now the reminder helped slip him back into that melancholy, that despair. After all, what had changed for him in the past month? He was still responsible for her death. Actually, he was responsible for MANY deaths and nothing he had done since then had changed that fact. He’d spent the past month with Joan and thankfully, no one had asked him any personal questions. What his demeanor didn’t discourage, his association with her had. But in those long dark nights, he lay there, dreading the inevitable question….’Who are you?’ It was a question he couldn’t bring himself to answer.

Joan knew something was up and figured it had to do with Jessica. That seemed to be the cause of the shadows she would see come over him. It seemed to be happening less frequently, the more they talked, which was a good thing. But today he seemed darker, more preoccupied and quieter than usual. She’d been unable to get more than a grunt in response to anything she said or asked.

When he woke the next morning, the oppressive air seemed to push down on him more than usual. He felt the inner darkness that he'd kept chained up, pushing to be free. Because of the date. The date where the light had gone out of his world. The date that he’d found out Jessica was dead, that she was gone, that he would never see her, hold her or kiss her again. The date when he realized he’d failed her. The date that he realized he was alone. The date that he realized he didn't care about anything or anybody anymore.

He felt like he was choking on something ......trying to hold back all the pain and guilt that he'd held in check these last few months. He was struggling to breathe. He had to get out of there and get out now. And that quickly, Joan’s words of comfort and understanding slipped away like they had never been.

John mumbled something about going out as he made his way past Joan. When she asked him where was he going, she got no answer. He didn't ask her to join him. She watched him walk through the warehouse camp and out the door.

Should she follow him? Or should she give him space? Deciding to let him be on his own, she hoped she had helped him enough to keep him safe. All she could do is watch out for him...and hopefully be there to catch him if he fell. He he was too important to her.

_____________________

He needed a drink, badly, like he hadn't needed one in a while.

Heading into the seedier part of the city, John felt the desolation of his surroundings fit his mood, which was getting darker with every step. There were fewer people on the street and some of the street lights were out. Going through his pockets he came up with $28.00. Good, he could buy a lot of cheap booze with that.

Falling back into the habits of a month ago was too easy. He bought three bottles and immediately opened one in the store and took a long drink. It made him sputter a bit since it had been a while since he had any, but didn't burn too bad.

Grabbing the bag with the other bottles he walked out of the store. He'd finished the first bottle by the time he'd reached the end of the second block. The familiar buzz was quieting the scream of pain in his mind. Images kept repeating themselves over and over again in his head. Moments with Jessica; moments without her; the moment the nurse said Jessica was dead; moments of that powerful sadness watching the wedding videos at Peter's house when he saw her fear. Worst of all he kept seeing her in the airport as she walked away from him.

Opening the second bottle he downed half of it without stopping. And just like that, the burn was gone. The alcohol along with that feeling of choking flowed down his throat like water. Standing on the corner he held the opened bottle in one hand and the last unopened bottle in the other. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes. His chest began to ache from holding in the sob welling up inside of him. He'd had a chance to save her! All he’d needed to do was open his damn mouth! That one single moment at the airport sealed her fate even before either of them knew it would. In his mind, he’d killed her at that moment with his silence.

Being unaware of your surroundings when you live on the streets is an open invitation to the evil that could be found on the streets. John's behavior and the bag that obviously held liquor, had attracted some attention. He was completely unaware of the three men watching from across the street. Two of them walked away down the street and crossed over to John's side. The other waited and the crossed the road to where John was standing.

"Hey buddy, you got somethin' you wanna share?" he asked as he approached. John was oblivious, lost in the personal misery of his past.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you...." the guy asked again. By then his two friends were behind John.

John never opened his eyes. Just tipped the open bottle up and drank it dry. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he finally turned toward the speaker.

"I don't care. I don't share." was John's answer as he tossed the empty bottle at the speaker.

The two guys behind jumped him at the same time. Expecting little or no resistance they were surprised at the ferocious response they encountered. Using the unopened bottle as a club, John cracked it over one guy's head. As he went down John took care of the second guy with one punch. In mere moments, both were down.

Not even breathing hard, John confronted the guy he'd thrown the empty bottle toward.

"Well?" was all John said. The other guy turned and ran, apparently without his two friends he was a coward.

Shaking his head and sighing deeply John looked at the broken bottle at his feet. It had broken on impact with the guy's head and the liquor was now all over the sidewalk. "Damn."

Two bottles of cheap booze was having the desired effect of numbing the pain but he could still feel it. He could still think it, remember it, experience it. He needed more liquor. Finding another liquor store in the area was not difficult. Three more bottles should do the trick, he thought.

By the end of the fourth bottle John could barely walk. He was mumbling to himself as he staggered down the street. The few folks on the street gave him a wide berth. They thought he was crazy, which actually wasn’t far from the truth.

Walking aimlessly John was surprised to find himself back at THAT BRIDGE. The good ole GW Bridge. The place where he thought he'd leave all his pain behind, and yet, he was still here. It didn't take long to find that spot he'd been a month ago. The view hadn't changed. Maybe a little colder.

Instead of sitting ON the rail, this time he sat on the walkway, leaning back against the metal supports. Opening the last bottle he took a long, hard swallow. The pain was still there but it was numbed by the alcohol. He was having trouble keeping his eyes focused.

"Jessica, I am so sorry. I am so sorry I didn't say what you wanted me to say. So sorry I didn't say those words that would have kept you by my side, where I could have kept you safe." Actually saying those words out loud had been hard. He'd never ever put those thoughts into words and now he was saying them out loud.

"I thought I was doing the right thing. But it was the wrong thing. It just took me too long to realize how much I loved you." his voice had sunk to a whisper. "I never should have pushed you away, I never should have let you GO away. I was so wrong. So very very wrong."

Finishing off the last bottle he waited for the pain to go away completely. Waited to pass out so he couldn't feel anything.

"Please forgive me Jessica for leaving you. Please forgive me for not being there when you needed me the most. I know I’ll never be able to forgive myself." The last words said it all.

Looking at the empty bottle in his hand, John suddenly thought, “Joan will be disappointed in me.” It seemed he disappointed everybody.


	11. Chapter 11

Joan kept herself busy after John walked out. She moved around and chatted with people in the camp. She went out and scrounged up something to eat with some friends. Time was moving slowly for her. This kind of waiting reminded her too much of those days with her son.

Shying away from that thought, she busied herself sorting the things she and John had collected the day before. He had a sharp eye and learned fast. He'd found quite a few things she had overlooked. She got involved sorting the things she could sell and things she could trade. Most of all she was happy with the things she'd decided to keep.

Having things sorted into piles, Joan ventured back out into the camp. It had quieted down quite a bit. She was surprised it was quite late, apparently more time had passed than she realized. She went looking for Joe and Mack. Finding them around the fire they kept burning in the middle of the camp, she sat down next to them.

"Either of you boys know what time it is?" she asked.

"Think it’s after midnight. Saw Murray come in a while back and he never comes back until after midnight. So maybe 1:00 in the morning?" Joe replied.

"One o'clock? In the morning?" Joan jumped up. Worry was written all over her face. "Have either of you seen John? He left sometime this afternoon. I thought he'd be back by now."

Mack looked at Joe and they both looked back at her. Shrugging his shoulders Mack answered, "Nope. We've been right here most of the day and tonight. Nothing going on anywhere."

Joan felt the beginnings of panic. John had never gone out this long by himself. Remembering the state he was in when he left, she became even more worried. He was still in a fragile state of mind. Their talks had seemed to be helping him and they certainly were helping her. But now the fear that she remembered feeling when her son would disappear came back full force.

She’d been helpless before but not this time! She was not going to lose John. Not like she lost her son.

"Boys, I need your help to find John. I was worried when he left today. Something was bothering him. I think something might have happened to him…..or he might have done something.” she paused for a moment, trying to get control. “And we may need some of the others too. Can you get some of your friends to help us?"

Seeing Joan's obvious distress, Joe and Mack immediately understood the seriousness of what she was asking. "Sure, we can get a couple of guys to help. Give us a few and we'll be back." Both got up and quickly walked into the other parts of the camp.

Normally Joan was not the excitable type. Her cynicism after living on the streets for so long, normally kept her immune to the highs and lows of life in the camps. But this was different. This was personal. This was John. The depth of her concern for John caught her by surprise. But then remembering why she had been drawn to him in the first place, she knew why she was reacting so strongly to his unexplained absence.

Joe and Mack returned quickly with four friends. Once they described who they were looking for, they all knew what to do. Most people knew who John was since he'd been there for a month. They were more than willing to go look for him.

Joan was ready to go out looking with them but Joe stopped her. "Look, he may show back up while we're out. It would be better if you're here then, right?" She couldn't argue the logic but she hated being left behind. She felt she needed to be doing something!

___________________

Joe and Mack sent their friends out looking in pairs. That way if they found John, one could stay either with him or watch him while the other came back for help. Altogether, with six of them looking, they could cover a pretty decent sized area quickly.

After about an hour of walking down some of the streets near the warehouse where the camp was, Joe and Mack expanded their search. There weren't many folks on the streets and the ones they stopped and asked about John, none had seen him. That was until they got deeper into the city.

Finally they heard some folk talking about three guys getting beat up over some liquor. That was a pretty common occurrence on the streets but there was something about the way people talked about the guy who’d walked away unharmed that made them feel they had found John.

Within two blocks Joe realized they were headed toward the bridge. That was not good. He felt if John had headed there again, the ending might be very different than the last time. He grabbed Mack by the arm and pointed, "The bridge, I'll bet you 100 bucks he's on the bridge."

Mack looked up and then at Joe, "God I hope not. I hope not for Joan's sake." And they took off running.

______________

The cheap liquor was finally having the desired effect. John was torn between closing his eyes and the world spinning or opening his eyes instead and having everything blurry and spinning. His head rolled back and forth on the metal girder behind him. He couldn't seem to form a coherent thought. It all just blended into an agony that would not be denied.

His head snapped forward and he tried to focus. What he felt was an overwhelming feeling of guilt, the torment of the damned. And that's what he was....damned. Everyone he knew, everyone he’d LOVED was gone. And it was all because of him. Wherever he went, he carried with him the raven of death and no one was immune. First it was his father, then his mother and sister.

And one day, he’d met HER. His Jessica. And despite all the pain he’d caused to those that had loved him, she still found that part of him that was good. Jessica had made him whole, she completed him. He'd known that from the first moment they had met. He had never been happier. And then came 9/11. He KNEW then that he had to let her go. He could feel the wings of death surrounding him once more. It wouldn’t have been fair to her to drag her down with him. So he’d let her go.

He’d tried to fill the resulting emptiness with his buddies in the Army, but one by one, they were taken from him because he wasn’t quick enough. He didn’t kill the enemy fast enough to keep them from hurting all his men. GOOD men. Men who deserved to come back to their wives and families.

And then the CIA came for him. The temptation of helping his country was the final step in the road that led to his damnation. And then Jessica called, and when she needed him the most. What did he do? He chose his job over her. He had let Jessica go and then lost her for good. He lost her, the one person who connected him to the world.

Why was he still here when she was gone? Because he was damned, reliving his guilt every single day, always in pain. He was spirally down deeper into darkness. He deserved every bit of the torture he endured.

_____________

Mack spotted him first. Relief washed over him when he realized John was still on the bridge. That he hadn't done anything stupid. At least not yet. Joe caught up with him and he pointed in John's direction. They could both see he was sitting on the walkway, not the railing like last time.

They both had a healthy respect for John and his ability to defend himself. They knew better than to walk up unannounced. Joe had a military background and knew from watching John, that he was highly trained and quite capable of taking care of himself, even when he was liquored up, which it looked like he was now. Observing how he was sprawled out on the sidewalk, legs straight out, leaning back on the girder and the telltale paper bag by his side, he knew.

Joe motioned for Mack to go around to John's other side. It would be better to come at him from both sides just in case the man tried to do that stupid thing they were worried about. Once Mack was in place, he gave Joe the high sign.

"Hey John, what ya doin' out here this time of night?" Joe asked as he slowly approached. Keeping a respectful distance, he waited to see if he'd get an answer.

John's head slowly turned toward Joe. Squinting his eyes, John tried to focus on the blurry shape talking to him. The voice was familiar but he couldn't focus well enough to see who it was.

"Who's there?" John asked, his words slurred, his voice hoarse from all the straight liquor he'd been drinking.

"It's me, Joe. You know me." motioning Mack to back off, he moved closer. "I'm a friend of Joan’s. You remember her, right?"

Joe watched in disbelief when John's face crumpled. "Joan? Joan? Where's Joan? I gotta apologize to her." John was obviously choked up. "Joan's been so good to me and now I've gone and disappointed her. Where is she? I need to tell her....." the last words were made in a broken whisper.

"It's ok John, I'll take you back to Joan. Mack is with me." he motioned for him to come forward. "You remember him. We're both gonna help you get back to the camp."

"Back to Joan?" John asked with a slight tremble in his voice.

_______________________

Getting John back to camp was not easy. He was having trouble walking, but Joe and Mack did their best between them. Neither was sure if his problem was because he was drunk or because of the mental shape he was in. It reminded Joe of some of his Army buddies going through something like this. Too many returning vets had deteriorated like this, from liquor and PTSD, a potent and too many times deadly, combination.

The normally hour walk took almost two hours. John was resistant part of the time, fighting them, wanting to be left alone. Then other times he kept saying he needed to see Joan. A couple of times they had to just stop and sit on a bench and rest.

Having had enough of John dragging his feet, Joe and Mack ended up grabbing his pants from the back, at his waist, and almost carrying him. It would have been easier if he'd had on a belt. Carrying him that way, they each hauled one of John's arms over their shoulders and finally were able to cover some ground. All three were exhausted by the time they walked through the door of the warehouse.

Seeing Joan just inside the door, Joe caught her eye and shook his head, warning her off. They slowly made their way through the camp to Joan's area against the back wall. She followed them, anxious to see what condition he was in. After waiting for over three hours she had become frantic that John had done what she had feared. Relief at seeing him alive was tempered with concern at the obvious bad shape he was in.

Holding open the blanket door, Joan stepped aside to let them in. Following them in, she gestured to a pallet against the wall. Mack figured that was where John slept and he and Joe lowered him down so he was sitting on the pallet. John immediately scrambled until he was leaning back against the wall. Pulling his knees up to his chin, he bowed his head and wrapped his arms around his legs and pulling into himself, trying to disappear.

Joan watched them as they settled John down. She found herself staring at a shadow of the man who had walked out yesterday. Turning toward Joe, she was at a loss of what to say or even ask. He nodded his head toward the door, not wanting to talk in front of John.

"Where was he?" was the only question that Joan asked once they were outside of her sleeping area. She felt the answer to that would explain a lot.

"He was at the GW bridge. Just like last time." Joe answered. Joan gasped, afraid to hear more.

"But not quite like last time." Mack interrupted. "This time he was sitting on the sidewalk on the bridge. Not the hand rail." Joan closed her eyes and mumbled, "Thank God."

"Yeah, I don't think he was planning on jumping this time. But he's pretty tore up about something." Joe continued. "He's had a lot to drink but I think he's messed up in the head more than anything."

"Main thing he kept saying was that he needed to talk to you. Said he needed to apologize. Everything else was kinda gibberish." Explained Mack. "Except he did keep saying the name Jessica. That was pretty much all we could understand."

Joan reached up and hugged both of them, thanking them for finding him and bringing him back safely.Turning back toward the blanket door, she took a moment to bring herself under control. Taking a deep breath she pulled the blanket back and walked in.

____________________________

Walking over to where John was huddled up, she sat down. She said nothing, just sat there with her hands in her lap looking at him. Taking in his posture, he seemed to be withdrawing into himself, almost like he was trying to disappear. It was clear he had spent a rough night even though she didn't see any cuts or bruises.

John was shaking his head side to side, mumbling to himself. With his face down on his knees she couldn't understand any words, but the sound he was making broke her heart. There was so much pain in that sound.

Slowly reaching out she started to touch his shoulder but she stopped short. Instead she lowered her hand and touched his hand. His mumbling stopped immediately. But he didn't pull away from her touch. She slowly slid her hand in to his and squeezed it gently. After a moment of hesitation, he squeezed her hand.

They sat like that for a while. Joan's arm and shoulder were getting tired but when she would try to withdraw her hand, he gripped it harder. His bowed head brought tears to her eyes. He reminded her so much of her son. She had seen him in this exact same position too many times.

"John, can you hear me? John?" she asked softly, leaning close to catch his answer. She was met with silence.

"John, it's me, Joan. You're home." She winced at her use of that word. They had never called this place home. It was for her, had been for a couple of years. But she wasn't sure how he felt about it. There was still no sound from him.

Reaching up with her other hand, she gently touched his hair and whispered, "John, you're ok. You're safe here." That got her a response, but it was more violent than she expected.

He pulled away from her hands and pushed himself further back against the wall. His eyes held look of fear and confusion. "Safe? Safe? Nowhere is safe!" His eyes darted everywhere, looking behind her, looking on each side of him. There was no recognition of where he was.

Gritting her teeth Joan reached out a grabbed John's hands once again and held on tight. "John, look at me. LOOK AT ME!" She was not going to let go. She was not going to let HIM go. Not this time. Not. This. Time. "John, it's me. It's Joan."

Finally John turned his head toward her and looked her in the eyes. Joan saw the moment of recognition. "Joan? Joan?" he whispered, almost in disbelief. "Joan!" Pulling her toward him he hugged her with all his might, pulling her off balance so she leaned into him.

Closing her eyes Joan hugged him back with the same fierceness. And suddenly she knew, all was not lost, there was still hope.  
_______________

"Joan, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for disappointing you. Please forgive me." John begged he held her tight.

Not being sure what he was asking forgiveness for, Joan decided to just follow his lead. "Of course I forgive you John." Pausing for a moment she cast around in her mind about what to say next, to keep him talking. "I know you didn't mean to disappoint me, not deliberately. It's ok. And I’m not disappointed, really, I’m not."

That seemed to ease some of the tension she could feel in him. She slowly pulled back to see what was in his face. He had such an expressive face when he talked to her. She'd noticed he was rather closed off when talking to others. But with her, he was always open.

The naked pain and confusion she saw took her back to those dark nights with her son. It was almost more than she could handle. But she would handle it. This was why she was drawn to John. He had the same darkness in him that she'd seen in her son. Something she’d unfortunately seen too late.

This was not the same John that she’d been living with over the last month. Something had broken. Something that he'd either kept from her deliberately or subconsciously. This damage was done a while ago, she sensed. But she was going to help him fix it, to fix himself. She owed it to her son. She owed it to John, who she had come to love as a son.

"It's going to be alright John. I promise."

Sliding around, Joan settled next to John and leaned back against the wall. She was glad he didn't try to move away. Sitting there quietly, she hoped he understood she was not going away either, that she was there for him. She wondered if he would have returned if Joe and Mack hadn't found him. Shaking her head slightly, she refused to let her thoughts go in that direction. It wouldn't do any good for anybody.

Stretching out her left hand, she touched John's right hand. Since he didn't pull it away, she carefully slipped her hand in his and brought it to her lap. After a moment, his grip tightened on her hand. Looking at him sideways, she could see he still had his head down. It looked like his eyes were closed.

"John, tell me what happened." She asked quietly, but got no response, not even a reaction. She tried again, "John, tell me what happened. It's ok. You're here with me now."

Again there were no answer from John. The longer he took to answer her the more worried she became. What had happened to him since he'd walked out yesterday? She knew he had been upset, pre-occupied but nothing like this.

Lightly rubbing his hand she realized it felt unusually rough. Bringing his hand up she could see his knuckles were cut, and raw in a few places. He had such beautiful, elegant hands! They could only have gotten in this shape by fighting!

"Please don't shut me out John. Nothing you can say will push me away. I'm here for you." The words that she never said to her son, but should have, came effortlessly. "Talk to me, please."

With a barely audible sob, John began to cry. Tears flowed freely down his face from his closed eyes. His whole body began to shake.

"I'm a fake, a fraud. I'm not the man you think I am." Leaning his head back he opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling above, his tears continued to silently flow. "I've done things. Horrible things. I've killed people." he whispered. "I don't belong here. I don't deserve to be here."

He tried to pull his hand away from Joan but she held on tight. "Let go! I don't deserve your compassion!" he growled, angry now.

"No, I'm not going to let go John. I told you NOTHING you can tell me will make me push you away." She pulled on his hand, wanting him to look at her. "Believe me.....you know I don't lie." Joan said fiercely, holding his hand with both of hers.

Finally John turned toward Joan, the sight of so much self-loathing in his face almost made her heart stop. She knew what was wrong. She’d seen it in her son. But she hadn't known how to deal with it then. But she had learned.

She was quite a bit smaller than John but she reached around him and pulled him even closer. She pulled his head down to her shoulder and held him as tightly as she could. And she rocked him. Making nonsense sounds to soothe him, she held on tightly and rocked back and forth. He struggled to shake her off but she was not going to let go for any reason. Finally he quit struggling and relaxed into her arms. The tears still flowed but the emotion behind them seemed to be easing.

Eventually, he stretched out with his head in her lap. Joan stoked his hair and still talked softly to him, reassuring him he was safe, that he was ok, that she was there for him when he was ready to talk.

As the tension left him, he began talking. At first the things he said were disjointed and jumbled, spoken in a monotone. Eventually his words began to make sense. She realized he was talking about his time 'over there'. She already knew he’d been in Afghanistan and Iraq, just like her son. As he talked, it became easier to follow what he was saying. The more he talked the more emotion was shared: shame, guilt, anger, angst, doubt, rage, suspicion, regret. One emotion bounced into another one. With every change Joan could feel John physically react. One moment he would be shivering like he was freezing then stressed and flailing about, then his shoulders shaking as he was wracked with sobs. She did the only thing she knew to do...she held him tightly, crooning to him when she felt he was too deep in his pain, letting him know he was not alone.

He talked for a long time, reliving almost every moment that he described to her. Some of it sounded familiar, like from her son, but John had obviously been involved much deeper in fighting the war. She had to physically make herself not react to some of the things he was telling her. But it was obvious that he needed to tell someone these things. Some of them were obviously as painful for him to tell as it was for her to hear. There were other moments where she could hear the anger and the disgust at what he was telling her. The stories just rolled out of him. The more he told her, the more relaxed he became. The more she heard, the more tense she became.

He was right. He was a fraud in the sense that the persona he projected did not match the man pouring out his heart now. The man she allowed to be brought into this camp was not the same man with his head in her lap, opening his heart and mind to her. He had hidden this side of himself very well. Or had he? She almost felt that part of what he was sharing with her had been hidden to him also.

But no matter. She was not going to judge him. She truly felt that he was a good man, who had done bad things. But that he was still a good man, that he had not been corrupted, he had risen above it.

The early morning faded and Joan could hear people in the camp stirring. John had finally quieted as she held him. Sleep had been long time in coming for him. She was as exhausted as he was. The emotional journey that he had taken her on had exposed a lot of his demons. And they were some very bad demons. She had no idea how he’d kept that part of him so well hidden.

Joan finally relinquished her hold on John. He settled down on his pallet in a relaxed, dreamless manner. Standing up, after hours of sitting with her back against the wall, holding onto John for dear life......his life, had been draining. For her and for him.

Moving away, Joan stretched her back out. She was trying to decide what she needed more, coffee or sleep. Coffee won out. She pulled a blanket up over John and went to find somebody with some coffee.

She was surprised to be met by Joe, with two cups of coffee. Looking at him in surprise, she accepted the offering and smiled. "Figured after a night like that you both could use some coffee."

"You know? You heard?" Joan asked softly.

"I've seen it before, remember?" said Joe. Patting her on the shoulder, he walked away.

Making her way back to John, Joan thought about what Joe had said. Yes, he had seen it before and he had been instrumental in helping her after she lost her son. Her long lost friend had helped her deal with losing her son, but Joe had explained to her just what had destroyed her son from the inside out. He had taught her how to recognize the symptoms, the signs. It had been a hard lesson to learn. Her son had given her all the signs of PTSD but she had never heard of it; she had been oblivious as to the true source of his pain. Now it was her turn to do what she should have done to help her son. She knew this was why John had caught her attention, that he was worth trying to help even when she didn’t know why he needed help back then. She just knew that John was important, that he mattered.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning John woke up with a ferocious headache. He had not felt this bad in quite awhile. Trying to sit up, he almost threw up. Taking it a little slower, his mind finally convinced his body that he was not spinning like a dervish.

As his senses returned he remembered the night before. All of it. All the things that he had laid out to Joan. Things that he’d suppressed within himself. Shame consumed him followed by revulsion. Every twisted, abhorrent thing he had done in the name of his country came roaring back. This time he did throw up. Luckily someone had put a bucket near him.

Wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand he stopped for a moment. Slowly he extended both arms in front of him. Those hands, at the end of his arms, had done terrible things. They had killed many people.....with guns, with knives. Suddenly he remembered he had even killed people with his bare hands.

An animal sound erupted from him, a cross between a moan and a scream. Balling his hands into fists he pressed them against his head and rocked. Sitting outside the blanketed area, Joe heard it all.

Joan was getting some water and a precious cup of coffee when Joe found her.

"He's awake Joan. And he's as bad off as I figured he'd be. Are you ready for this?"

"Yes." Was all she said.

Stopping at the door to her area, Joan could hear John on the inside. She recognized that sound. She had heard her son sound just like that. Immediately, images of her son came to her. She hadn't known what to do then, but with Joe's help, she felt she had another chance. Another chance to save a life.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she said a quick prayer. Joe pulled back the blanket and Joan entered the lion's den.

Seeing John rocking back and forth was almost too much for her. Her hands began to shake and she almost spilled the hot coffee. So many times she had seen Danny like that. Tormented by things she didn't understand. She had felt helpless...because she was helpless. Sometimes a mother's love was not enough, and that was what hurt the most.

Not saying a word and moving quietly, Joan put down the coffee and the water bottle. Sitting down near John but not touching him, she sat there quietly, waiting to see if he noticed her. Or at least smelled the coffee.

Slowly the keening wail quieted and the rocking finally came to a stop. John raised he head with his eyes closed and sniffed. He smelled the coffee. Turning toward the smell he opened his eyes and saw Joan. His reaction was immediate. Shying away from her he pulled his arms toward his body and ducked his head. "Go away! Get out!" he shouted.

"No John, I'm not going anywhere." Was Joan's calm reply. Even though her heart was beating painfully in her chest she was not going to let him see her fear. Because right now, she did fear him. Too many times her son had struck out at her, trying to force her away or trying to get away from her. But she knew Joe was right outside if she needed him.

"Leave me alone! Get away! I'm bad! I'm evil! The things I've done......." John cried out, leaning as far away as possible from Joan. "I'll hurt you! I don't want to hurt you! Please, please......leave....." his voice trailed off in a sob.

"John, I am here because I want to be. I am here because I care; I care about you." Saying these words gave her strength. She meant every one of them. "I love you John and I am not going to lose you."

"You care about me? How? After everything I told you last night?" John was panicking over Joan's lack of understand of the danger she was in. He was a killer. A highly trained efficient killer. He killed with impunity. He could kill anybody and do it in many different ways. "I am dangerous. I can't be trusted. YOU are in danger just being around me."

"Like I said John, I'm not going anywhere." Joan continued to talk quietly with very little emotion. In John's state of mind right now, he could easily misconstrue something she said or did or even HOW she said it. She kept her sentences short and repeated them over and over.

John's anger boiled over as he jumped to his feet and stood over Joan. Threatening her with his proximity, the aura of true violence flowed around him as he raged, "Leave me alone. Get out. Do you understand me?"

Joan held her ground, sitting there looking up at John. She had to trust that she'd made enough of an impression on him in the last month that he would not hurt her. Joe was close but John could easily hurt her or even kill her before Joe could come to her rescue.

Breathing deeply, John glared at her. His eyes held a wildness in them that she had not seen before. His arms were by his sides with his hands still balled up into fists and he was shaking with barely contained rage. "Get OUT!" he screamed.

Joan saw the blanket to the right move slightly and she could see Joe. Barely shaking her head no, she continued to look John in the eyes. "No, I'm not leaving you John."

Suddenly John's head snapped back, his eyes closed and his hand covered his face. Gasping for air, he slowly slid to the floor in front of Joan. Burying his head in her lap all the tension flowed out of him like water.

Joan sat there for awhile with John's head in her lap. Stroking his hair she was reminded of her son when he was a little boy. When he'd get scared he'd put his head in her lap and cry. She'd soothe him by stroking his hair and talking to him. They had been so close in those days.

Looking down at John, she spoke softly about nothing important, just using the sound of her voice to calm him. Every so often she would remind him that she was here for him, she wasn't going anywhere. Eventually he relaxed enough to fall asleep again. Joan looked longingly at the now cold cup of coffee and sighed. She figured she'd be here for awhile.

A couple of hours later, Joe stuck his head in the door but said nothing, just nodded to John. Joan smiled back and touched her finger to her lips for him to stay quiet. Joe came in far enough to retrieve her coffee cup and then left. Returning shortly he came in and handed her a new hot cup of coffee. Smiling her thanks, Joan took a sip and sighed. Joe motioned he'd be outside if she needed him.

This time the smell of the coffee did not wake John. His sleep was restless but nothing like the previous night. Joan settled back, sipping her coffee and thinking about what she had learned about John. She felt he still had demons that had not yet released their hold on him, but she'd not heard anything that would make her turn away from him.

Looking down at him with his head in her lap, she was amazed to see the difference in his face. Brushing his hair back, she felt she was seeing the real John. Seeing his face while he slept, he was so peaceful, no frown on his face, his mouth relaxed. Even after some her son's worst nights, the resulting deep,healing sleep allowed the boy she had raised to shine through. That was the feeling she had as she looked at John. This was the man he was supposed to be.

Setting the empty cup to the side, Joan moved around to try and get more comfortable. She didn't want to wake John. At least not yet. She looked over at the pallet where she usually slept, it looked much more comfortable than where she was sitting. Well, over the years she'd slept in some uncomfortable spots, a few hours here shouldn't be too bad.

John stirred slightly as he came awake. Joan had been dozing lightly but instantly came awake herself. He slowly set up and rubbed his eyes. She watched him as he took in where he was. Most importantly, she watched as he assimilated everything that had gone on since he'd walked out of the camp. So many emotions flashed across his face just before the wall came down.

"I don't belong here. I'm not fit to be around people." John said in a monotone. He had already written himself off.

"John, I told you I wasn't going anywhere, that I wasn't going to leave you." Joan waited to see if he'd respond to her. But he refused to face her. His head was bowed and he looked at his hands in his lap, turning them over and over, like he was looking for something.

"I'm not going to leave you John and you're not going to leave here either." The only reaction she got was him clenching his eyes shut and dropping his head lower. His hands balled up into fists once more as he slowly shook his head.

"I don't belong here." He repeated softly.

Reaching over Joan, pulled one of his hands, still balled up in a fist, into her lap. "Let me tell you a story. A story that might show you that you DO belong here. That you are in the place you are supposed to be."

"I told you I lost my son, Danny, two years ago. It was the worst thing I have ever gone through. A parent should never outlive their child. I was lost for quite awhile after he was gone. My closest friend in the world was there for me. She didn't let me disappear. She helped me deal with living….living while my child was.......dead." Joan paused for a minute. This was harder than what she thought it would be.

John looked over at her when she paused. This time Joan's eyes were closed. He'd never looked at her that closely. Her hard life was written all over her face. The lines he could see when he looked closely were normally hidden when she was being her usually feisty self. But he could see the sadness that overlay the harshness of life on the streets. He relaxed his hand and laced his fingers with hers and squeezed lightly.

Startled, Joan looked over at John and caught him looking at her. She smiled and squeezed his hand back. Time to continue and get the whole story out.

"My son did well in the military. It gave him a purpose and it gave him some much needed structure. Rules that he could not bend without dire consequences. And he thrived on it." smiling to herself at the memories. "Danny was happy. He sent home almost all his money to me. He didn't want me living on the streets anymore so I found an apartment. It was a small place. Just big enough for me. It was the first home I'd had in years. He was a good son."

Squeezing John's hand tightly, Joan felt the dark memories coming. "There was a change in him after his first deployment. Some of the light had gone out of him. He was jittery and jumpy. He hardly smiled at me or anybody." Shaking her head she continued, "I'd ask him what was wrong but he'd just shrug it off and tell me he was fine. I believed him. I know now that I believed him because I wanted to believe him. It was easier." She looked over at John, pain in her eyes. "He started drinking. Drinking a lot. More than he ever had in the past. Enough that it was eating into the money he'd been giving me for my apartment."

Taking a deep sigh Joan pushed on with her story. "He went back after his leave and things seemed to have straightened out for him. Then he got deployed a second time." Her voice trailed off.

"I don't know what happened during that second deployment. He came home a different person. He wasn't my Danny anymore." She said with a catch in her voice. Again John gave her a reassuring squeeze with his hand in hers. After leaning so heavily on her lately, especially last night, it felt good to be able to let her lean on him for support.

"Danny was given a medical discharge. He'd been wounded by an IED that had killed three of his best friends. He came home and we tried to live in the little efficiency apartment he'd been paying for while he'd been in the Army. But it was too small for two adults. Especially with the problems that Danny brought home with him." pausing again to get control. "He started drinking again. He was hyper sensitive to every little sound. He would go days never leaving the apartment. He hardly slept all all."

"I finally got him to go to the VA for help. They sent him to the VA hospital and they diagnosed him with PTSD. They gave him a bunch of drugs and sent him home to me." Tears slowly rolled down her cheeks as she remembered that horrible winter.

"I didn't even know what PTSD was! They just gave him a label and lots of drugs. He hated the drugs. Said he felt like a zombie. All he wanted to do was sleep. When he was awake he'd just stare at the TV and not talk or even eat. But he kept drinking."

Wiping her face with her free hand she looked over at John. "Sorry to be such a cry baby. Haven't told anybody else any of this other than my friend. And later I told Joe."

Looking at her John could see how much trouble she was having, reliving the past. "You don't have to continue. You can stop."

"No, I need to tell you all of it. I need to tell it and you need to hear it." She said firmly, as she threw her shoulders back, ready to get on with it.

"I didn't know or understand what Danny was going through. We'd get into arguments when he'd come home drunk. I'd yell at him for not taking a shower for days, for leaving food out and all kinds of things. He finally quit taking the drugs they'd given him. He said the drugs were causing more problems than they were helping."

"Without the drugs things went down hill even faster. He hardly slept at all unless he was passed out. What little money was coming in was spent on more liquor. He'd be gone for a couple of days and come back dirty and sometimes beat up. I was at my wits end. I didn't know what to do. We argued constantly. Then we had one really big argument and I told him to leave and not come back." Her last words were spoken in a broken whisper. "I told him to get out and that I didn't care what he did or where he went. To just leave me the hell alone."

Bowing her head, Joan gave in to the tears that she had suppressed for the past two years. Reliving it while she told John was killing her. But she had to tell him.

“After three days I got worried about him. I went looking for him. I walked the streets and talked to people who knew him. But nobody had anything to tell me. I went places I had never been to and never want to go to again. But I went because I was looking for my lost child that I had sent away.” The hopelessness in her voice was painful to hear. “I walked those streets day and night and never found him.”

"Two days later a friend came looking for me. They said they thought Danny had jumped off the GW Bridge. They needed me to identify the body."

Now it was John’s turn to hold Joan while she wept.

_____

When she was done, Joan felt that she had finally accepted her son's death. Her grief had poured out of her with every tear. Two years ago her friend had helped her deal with losing her son and God knows she'd needed the help. It had been too much for her to handle alone. She had talked to her, stayed with her, reasoned with her, argued with her. She had never left her side and that constant, unwavering support had meant the world to her. But in all that time, Joan had done everything but cry, really cry. Telling Danny's story to John had finally released the grief that only a mother can feel at such a terrible loss.

Wiping her eyes one last time Joan sat up. John's arm was still around her shoulders, holding her lightly. She brushed her hand through her hair and gave a deep sigh.

John stretched out his other hand and snagged a bottle of water and offered it to Joan, without look at her.

Joan looked at the bottle, hesitated for just a moment before she took it from him. Smiling slightly she turned toward John, "A bottle of water seems to the cure-all for us doesn't it?"

John turned in response to her question and cocked one eyebrow, "It would seem so."

As he pulled his arm back from around her shoulders, he shifted so there was some space between them. He still felt like he didn’t belong here. There were good people here, people just like Joan. People who had been down on their luck, lost their jobs, their homes, their families. He knew that some of the people in the camp were bad. Some came just to prey on others less fortunate. But they didn't last long in the camp before they were run out. Even at that though, most of them weren't murderers. They were just low life thieves.

He felt like the odd one out. That he was nothing like the people here. Kara had tried to tell him it would be this way; she said she wasn't sure they were even human anymore. And she’d been right.

Watching John out of the corner of her eyes, Joan knew that he'd retreated back to that dark place. She had to convince him he didn't belong in the dark, not any more.

"John, I told you about Danny for a reason." She said as she laid her hand on his arm. She needed him to look at her, to really listen to what she was going to say to him.

Looking down at her hand on his arm, John hesitated. Part of him wanted to shrug her off from touching him and yet part of him needed it. Was it unnatural that he actually craved human contact? It made no sense when he didn't even feel human!

Resisting the urge to move his arm out from under her hand, he turned and looked at her, saying nothing.

"Joe came into our camp just before I lost Danny. He was a veteran living on the streets. He recognized Danny's problems almost immediately. He tried to help but Danny was too far down that road." Again Joan's voice dropped to a whisper.

This time John reached for Joan, covering her hand with his other one and squeezing tightly. He could feel her distress as a physical thing. Even without thinking about it, he was drawn to comfort her. Her answering squeeze was enough.

"But Joe turned out to be a blessing in his own way. He helped me understand what Danny had been going through. He helped me deal with the guilt that I felt because I had let my son down." Joan looked up at John and looked deep into his eyes, willing John to understand. "He taught me about PTSD, the different forms it takes, how to recognize the symptoms. He helped ease my feelings of guilt for failing someone important to me."

Feeling restless, Joan pulled her hands back. Rubbing them together she felt she was suffocating. She stood up and brushed off her clothes. She'd been sitting on the ground for quite a while. Stretching her cramped muscles she looked down at John. "Come on, we've been in here long enough. We need to go for a walk."

Joan didn't even wait for his answer. She turned and moved the blanket aside and walked out. By the time she got to the door of the warehouse, John was beside her. Turning to the left, Joan pulled the collar of her old coat up around her neck and started walking. John paused for a moment trying to decide what he would do.

There was a part of him that wanted to just leave. Leave Joan, leave the warehouse, leave the people who lived there...get away from where he didn't belong. But another part of him wanted to stay. For the first time in a very long time he had felt like he was part of something, a group, a family. He'd lost his family long ago and the Army had become his family. Then there was Jessica who became his world. But he'd tossed her aside to join a new family: The CIA. Look where that had gotten him.....alone with no Jessica, no job, no home. Til Joan had found him. So he made the only real choice he could and turned left and to follow Joan.

"I am sorry you lost your son." John was at a loss of what else to say. He really wasn't very good at knowing what to say when someone had lost a loved one. He only knew what NOT to say from his own experiences. He knew not to offer her any trite phrases so instead he tried to connect with her through their shared loss. It was one of the reasons he hadn't really told Joan that much about Jessica. He wasn’t sure he wanted or deserved that connection with another human being.

"I told you about Danny to try and explain to you why you matter so much to me."

"You matter to me because you were my chance to make amends, to make a difference."

“Your chance to make a difference? To what?”

“Yes! I was too late to save my son. I didn’t know what was wrong. I didn’t know what to do…..and I lost him. Seeing you the first time in that soup kitchen, you reminded me of Danny. It was the look on your face…lost, confused, hopeless, frustrated. All of that. I saw it! Took me a while to figure that out but I did.”

Remembering the soul searching she had done during those times she had spotted him in the kitchen right up til that night on the bridge, Joan smiled and shook her head.

“You were close to that same edge as Danny. But this time I knew I could help. I knew HOW to help. This time I was going to be there IN TIME…”

“In time? In time for what?”

“To stop something bad from happening. To you.”

John stopped walking. Joan stopped and turned back toward him. The look of confusion on his face said it all. He was trying to put it together, not saving her son but being able to save him.

She never knew she would have to fight so hard to do the right thing!

Walking back to John, Joan stopped in front of him. Reaching up she placed her hands on each side of his face. "When I saved you from doing something stupid, you actually saved me at the same time." Patting his cheek with one hand she turned and started back toward the warehouse.

"Wait! Joan!" John called after her.

Catching up with her he grabbed her arm and pulled her back around to face him. "I am a killer. I killed for a living. I killed when and where and who I was told to and I never really questioned it. I don't belong with civilized people anymore. You never should have brought me into your camp. I hurt people. I KILL people. You didn't know what kind of an animal you had brought into your camp."

"Oh John, you have got so much crap piled up on you that you can't even see the light. I've watched you in the camp. I've watched you interact with other folks. You are not a danger to them. You never have been. You are only a danger to YOU." She watched for his reaction to her words, but got nothing. He still stood with his head bowed, refusing to look at her.

"I've got pretty good instincts about people. I felt you were important when I first saw you. Didn't know why I felt that way, I just did. It took me until that night on the bridge to understand how and why you were important to me."

"You keep saying that. But you're not listening to me! I AM A KILLER!" John said through clenched teeth. His hands balled up into fist in frustration.

"Remember I told you how Joe helped me understand what Danny had gone through? He convinced me as best he could, that I was not at fault for my son’s death. But he taught me something even more important. He made me believe, that if I had known what was truly wrong with Danny and if I'd known how to help him.....I would have been there in time to stop him from jumping." Shaking her head slightly, she reached out to John again, grasping both of his arms.

"He convinced me that one day I would be there in time for someone. I would be able to stop them from harming themselves or someone else. Kind of like paying it forward. And that's what happened! I was there in time to save you! And one day, maybe you can pay it forward. You can be there in time to save someone or stop them from harming themselves or even someone else."

Joan watched as her words slowly began to sink into him. He was in such a deep state of denial he was having to dig his way out. She sensed that deep down, John wanted and needed a ray of hope. Perhaps with her help, he might finally find it.

“I was just existing after I lost Danny. A parent should never have to bury their child. It doesn’t matter how old they are when you lose them or why or how you lose them, life doesn’t prepare you for that. I took to heart everything Joe had told me but I didn’t believe I’d ever get a chance to help someone like that. And then you walked into the soup kitchen.”

John finally looked at Joan. She stood there smiling at him with her head tilted to the side. She’d told him everything; she thought she had finally reached him but she still wasn’t 100% sure.

John took a deep breath and smiled slightly, reaching for her and pulling her into a bear hug. “Thank you for saving me and thank you for taking care of me, whatever your reasons.”

Tears came to Joan’s eyes as John hugged her. For a moment she imagined it was Danny hugging her and she felt at peace for the first time in a long time.


	13. Chapter 13

Things went back to normal at the camp. John and Joan went out in the evenings scavenging things to sell or trade. They ate at the soup kitchen once a week. Joan was pleased watching John in his dealings with Joe and Mack and others. He was still reserved and didn't talk about himself to others but he was friendly and helpful for anybody that needed an extra hand. Others began to come to him for advice and help. She knew he didn’t quite understand why any of them would seek him out but it seemed as though he was a little more forgiving of himself.  
_______

Once again the date rolled around that tended to send John into a tailspin. He'd get quiet and a become more self-contained, more introspective almost the day before. It had been interesting watching for the signs. Joan didn't keep track of the dates, but John sure did.

That day, John slid out the door of the warehouse and started walking quickly away. He wanted as much distance as possible between him and Joan when she realized he was gone. He just felt the strong need to be alone. He didn't feel the heavy darkness in himself that he'd felt a month ago. Without any conscious effort, he kept track of that moment he found out he was alone. He didn't need a calendar. His mind and his body just told him.

Talking to Joan after his last 'episode' as she called it, had helped him. For the first time in a long time he felt almost good about himself. Hearing that he had helped save her meant a lot to him. He'd been around death for so long, in the Army, in the CIA and with Jessica, it felt good to know he'd saved a life.

Buying the required bottle of cheap booze John headed for the bridge. This time death was not riding on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. This time he felt he was ready to truly mourn the loss of Jessica and the life they never got to have together, without going off the deep end, literally. He spent the night thinking about how they met. He'd never told Joan about that. In fact, he'd told her very little about Jessica. Maybe now he would be able to. But for today he just wanted to relive those moments alone.

Unshed tears came to his eyes as he remembered her face in the airport that last time. And then that memory flowed into the time he’d almost spoken to her in the bar with Peter. He wondered what would have happened if Kara hadn't found him and convinced him to leave before speaking to Jessica. Shaking his head he knew it was better not to think about that moment, it tended to make him angry. Angry at Kara, at himself for listening to her and rage whenever he thought about Peter. Then he smiled that deadly smile and remembered that Peter would never hurt someone again.

The relative quiet of the river at night slowly gave way to the morning traffic on the bridge. He'd finished off the one bottle of liquor and that had been enough. Gathering himself up he made his way back to the warehouse.  
__________

Trying to keep her mind off of John, Joan had kept busy around the camp. Catching up with some folks, trading some things with others. But in the back of her mind she wondered if John would come back on his own and if so, what condition he would be in. His ‘episode’ a month ago took a lot out of her and him. But she felt he’d turned a corner. So much of the darkness that had been in him had faded, but there was still some there, she could see it. The sadness was definitely still there. She knew it had to be about that woman, Jessica, but he always shied away from talking about her except for that that one time.

Keeping one eye on the warehouse doorway she finally settled down to wait as night fell. Joe had offered to go look for him but she had told him no. John knew how to get back to the warehouse. She just had to wait to find out if he wanted to find his way back.

As it got later and later Joan began to lose hope, to have doubts that she had been able to reach him. Sometime after midnight she gave up her vigil and went to bed.

She woke up when she heard him come into their sleeping area. Pretending to be asleep she listened to see if she could discern what kind of shape he was in. He didn't stumble around, so he wasn't drunk. He wasn't muttering under his breath and most important of all, when he finally stretched on his pallet, he didn't groan or moan like he was injured. Smiling to herself she relaxed and fell back asleep.

The smell of hot coffee brought Joan awake. She opened her eyes to see a smiling John holding TWO cups of coffee. Sitting up she rubbed her eyes and smiled at him. "Well you are a sight for sore eyes. And you bring gifts!" she said as she reached for a cup.

"Well Joe caught up with me last last night, or was it early morning? Anyway he gave me an ear full about leaving last night and not telling anybody anything. Told me you were worried." Smiling to himself he said, "He doesn't like it when you're worried." Seeing the surprised look on her face, he continued, "so I went out and got some coffee as a peace offering. Had to buy Joe a cup too."

Sipping on the hot coffee Joan savored every degree of the heat. "Well, I was worried after last time. But I'd hoped our talks had helped. Seems like it did since you came back on your own."

"Yes, it did. I was able to look at things from a different angle, a different perspective. Not sure I agree with all of it, but you somehow worked your magic." He said with a wink. "I went back to the bridge but not to jump off of it.” He quickly said, not wanting to worry her. “It was more to think about how much I've changed since that first night you found me."

They sat there together quietly sipping their coffee, each lost in their own thoughts. Joan was watching John surreptitiously. He was deep in thought about something. Almost arguing with himself. He'd frown and then it would go away. Then it would come back. She had no idea what it might have been, but she had a question for him, really more of a request.

"John, tell me about Jessica." His reaction was what she expected. He immediately tried shutting down. But then he stopped. He turned to look at her, "I guess maybe it's time I do tell you about her."

Working hard not to show her surprise, Joan bowed her head and took a sip of her coffee. Then she took another. After the third sip, John still had not said anything more. Looking over at him she could tell he was wrapped up in a memory. His inward stare gave him away.

"John, how did you meet Jessica...."

"She was my buddy's girlfriend." He said with a smile.

"What the hell?" Joan sputtered as she spit out her coffee in shock. "Never would have thought you'd steal somebody's girlfriend! Especially a friend's girlfriend!"

Grabbing a rag to mop up the coffee, John just smiled. "Maybe I better explain."

"Jessica was a friend of my buddy Mark. They'd grown up together in Payallup, Washington. They'd get together when he'd be on leave. Nothing really special. She was a nurse."

Joan immediately picked up on the past tense. She remembered that Jessica was dead.

"First time I met her Mark and I were on leave and drove up to Payallup. It was March, 2001. We met up with Jessica and some of her nursing friends at a bar for a few laughs." John's voice took on a wistful note as he remembered seeing her that first time. Naturally pretty, not a lot of makeup. Shoulder length, blondish hair with bangs. And a smile that he would remember to the end of his days.

"Anyway, Mark introduced us. It was like time had stopped. I barely heard her name but I remember her smiling at me." John's smile got even bigger. "I remember thinking, 'Boy I'm in trouble now.' I knew she was Mark's girlfriend but I couldn’t change the way I felt, even if I’d wanted to. And I didn’t want to."

Remembering those early days with Jessica felt good. They were the memories that had sustained him last night on the bridge. The happiness he'd felt in those days had kept him warm in the chilly air all night long.

"We had a good time that weekend. We did all the touristy things and Jessica and one of her friends led the way. Suddenly it was me and Jessica and Mark and Jessica's friend. We didn't even realized what was happening. All I knew was I wanted to be with Jessica and she wanted to be with me. Best part was that Mark was ok with it. He’d actually been interested in her friend and wasn’t sure how to make a move on her and not leave Jessica in a lerch. Really worked out perfect for both of us."

Joan had finished her coffee and sat there waiting for John to continue. He'd never talked to her on this level before. His past in the military and the CIA was one thing but this was on an emotional level she had never seen from him.

"When we had any leave time, we'd always hook up with Jessica and her friend. We had a blast. I'd gone straight into the military before I even graduated high school. Never did much dating. So all this was new to me. Movies, dinners, days at the beach. Mark and I spent every bit of free time with them."

"But one weekend Jessica and her friend couldn't meet us. They both had to work. So Mark and I were out on the town alone. With no women to be mindful of, we had a bit more to drink than usual. And we got ourselves into a nasty fight at one of the bars. The other guys fought dirty but we were off duty military and kind of cocky. One thing led to another and Mark and I ended up victorious but got kicked out of the bar anyway. "

Shaking his head and smiling at the same time John continued, "We were pretty beat up. Mark had a busted lip and a cut over one eye. I had a black eye and a pretty deep stab wound in my shoulder. It bled a lot but wasn't that bad. Problem was if we went to the ER we'd be in trouble for getting into a fight when we were on leave. We didn't want the MPs to be called."

"I called Jessica and explained what happened. She agreed to meet us within the hour after her shift, but only if our injuries weren't too serious to wait. My shoulder was bleeding kind of bad but we didn’t tell her that. We just said we’d meet her."

“Meeting us in the parking lot she brought some first aid supplies. Mark was easy to take care of but she got a little fussy about me. The stab wound in my shoulder needed stitches. She had not come out prepared to take care of something like that. I kept telling her I'd be ok but she was not having it."

"She was amazing. With the help of her friend who was still on duty, she snuck me into the ER and into one of the exam rooms. While she was cleaning me up and getting me ready for the stitches we started talking. She really opened up to me then, more so than when we'd all been together at dinner or wherever. It was just the two of us in the room."

"I found out she was an only child. When her father died it was just her and her mother and they were really close.” After a pause and a deep sigh, John continued. “Her mother wasn’t real happy she was with me. She didn’t even know me, she just knew Jess was seeing somebody in the Army. She didn’t seem to care for Jess dating people in the military for some reason. Jess kept how often we saw each other a secret from her. Said it was easier than having to listen to her mother carry on. I didn’t like being a ‘secret’ but whatever made Jess happy worked for me.”

Suddenly John laughed out loud. The sound caught Joan by surprise. She'd never heard him laugh and it was a good sound. Something he should do more often.

"Jess told me later that she put her mark on me. The scar where she had stitched me up was her mark." Pulling the left side of his collar of his shirt over he pointed to the scar just above his collar bone. "See? That's her mark. I see it every day......" John said as the laughter faded from his voice.

Seeing that deep sadness come over him, Joan was afraid she would lose the moment if he went too dark. This woman seemed to have played a very important part in his life for him to still be so strongly affected.

“What happened between the two of you?” Joan asked gently. Everything about John at this moment screamed ‘handle with extreme care’.

John was startled for a moment. He’d been remembering Jessica and their times together, when it was just the two of them. Jessica would always touch her ‘mark’ reminding him that she had claimed him.

“We became very ……involved.” Joan could hardly believe it but John actually blushed. John not only had trouble talking about Jessica but apparently he had trouble talking about relationships with women in general.

“I gathered that. How long were the two of you together?”

“Not long enough.” was John’s whispered answer.

“Things got very serious between us very fast. Faster than either of us expected. We saw each other as often as I could get leave. Sometimes it would be weeks in between. Those times were difficult, for both of us.” John remembered the time there was a six week break. They would talk almost every day but being apart for long periods bothered him.

Jessica was beautiful and friendly. She had lots of friends and always had a smile for everybody. But she had a special smile just for him. He couldn’t explain how it was different, but it felt private, personal and meant only for him. There had been times that he couldn’t believe how lucky he was that she had chosen him. “She was my everything.” he said to almost to himself.

“We’d only been together about six months when we took a trip, just the two of us, to Mexico. It was the first time we would truly be alone with each other.”

John stood up suddenly and looked down at Joan. “Can we go for a walk? I need some fresh air; I need some space.”

“Sure.” Joan answered as she stood up. Collecting their two coffee cups she led the way out. Depositing the cups in the trash, she nodded at Joe as they went out the door. Joe saluted John with his cup as he watched them walk out.

They walked about two blocks and John had yet to say anything else. Joan knew there was more to their story, she just wasn’t sure how to get him to continue. John had reached a point that only he could decide how much more he was willing to share.

Finally breaking his silence, John continued, “We had both talked about how much we hated being apart. She understood that was part of being with someone in the military, but that didn’t make it any easier. On either of us. Being apart from her I began to worry that she might not be there the next time I could take leave.”

Joan was having trouble keeping up with John and his long legs. When he would go silent, his pace would pick up. She felt like she was almost running. Putting her hand on his arm she pulled slightly to slow him down. He looked down at his arm and then at her. He had been so lost in thought that he looked surprised to see her. Then he smiled and said ‘Sorry’ and slowed down. When they had been out foraging in the evenings they had run into this same problem before.

“I loved being in the military. I loved the discipline, the camaraderie, the training, the weaponry. I loved my country. I loved the idea that I was fighting to protect my country and our way of life.” Once again he paused, trying to put into words what he felt then. “But I loved Jessica more. Before we left on our trip I’d told my CO that I was getting out at the end of my enlistment. I signed the papers to be mustered out. I couldn’t wait to tell Jess.”

“Mexico was hot and humid and beautiful. We were on the beach every day, from morning til night. I can still see Jess on the beach, her hair got lighter being in the sun all day. We got very tan and our nights were……well, they were special.” John kind of mumbled the last sentence. Joan just shook her head at John and his inability to give any personal details. He was a very private person, obviously not the kind to kiss and tell.

“I told her on our next to the last day in Mexico. I told her I was getting out of the service so we could be together. She was shocked at first because she knew how I felt about being a Ranger. But when I told her why, that I wanted to be with her always, she was as happy as I was.”

“I still remember the moment that dream ended. The moment the world changed forever”

Joan waited for John to continue but he remained silent and kept walking.

Then the gate opened…..to an unexpected torrent: 9/11………..

"I re-upped as soon as we got back home. My country needed me. Jess said she understood. I think she did; I hope she did. Our future was on hold. Everything we had talked about and planned while we’d been in Mexico fell by the wayside."

"We were together every second we could be. We lived for the moment. It was the only way."

"My training was short because technically I was still on active duty. But the training became more intense after 9/11. There was so much more at stake. My leaves were fewer and shorter duration. But we made the best of it."

My first deployment after 9/11 was for two months. We were in-country and I couldn't communicate with her at all. It was rough on her. All she had was the news and not knowing exactly where I was, she feared the worst. When I finally came home I was given a six week leave. We spent every minute of every day together. It was...intense."

Suddenly John realized where they were. He hadn’t meant to but they had reached the bench he’d been sitting on two months ago, by the river. The one with the missing slats. Taking a seat he waited for Joan to join him before continuing.

"My second deployment was for almost six months. This time I was able to get a message to her a few times. I was away longer but being able to at least write letters and talk on the phone helped." John stopped talking. The last couple of sentences had been spoken in a monotone. Something had changed. Something between the two of them, Joan was sure of it.

"I felt bad that Jess was living her life just waiting for those few phone calls and the letters. She’d put her life on hold for me. She kept telling me it was ok, that it was her choice, but it just didn't seem right."

“I came home as part of an escort for two of my friends who had been killed by an IED. They were good men. IEDs are a horrible way to die. Sometimes you don't die right away. Sam, another friend who had been injured by the same IED told me he wished he’d died in the explosion. He was pretty messed up, both legs were gone. He didn't want to go home to his wife in that kind of shape. What kind of life could he offer her now?"

John got quiet, leaning forward he put his elbows on his knees and bowed his head. Joan respected his grief and stayed quiet as well.

"It was meeting the families when we arrived home at the air base in the states that got to me. The wives and the mothers having only a casket to hug and cry over. There was nothing I could say to them to ease their grief. I was part of the honor guard and the words I had to say seemed so inadequate ‘A grateful nation thanks you for your ultimate sacrifice.’ I can still hear them crying all these years later.”

“But it was escorting Sam home to his wife that brought it home. He was in denial, he didn't want to see her, didn't want her to see him like he was. He'd told me he felt like he was no longer a man; that he was going to be burden on her. She was strong, she was there at the air base to meet him. You could see the shock on her face when she saw him. She already knew what had happened but seeing it was different. But that shock was over in a second and she ran to him and hugged him while they were rolling his gurney off the plane. He killed himself a year later."

John stopped talking again. His head was bowed and suddenly his shoulders began to shake. Joan reached for him when she realized he was crying. She reached over and hugged him as best she could. He resisted her attempt to console him, he stayed stiff and did not lean into her hug.

"John, what's wrong? That was the past. That was something you had no control over."

"No, you don't understand!” John said as he raised his head and looked at Joan with so much pain in his eyes. The agony in his voice tore her heart. “That was the moment I decided to break it off with Jessica.”

Dropping his head once again, he continued in a broken whisper, “I could come home in a box or come home missing body parts or even not come home at all. I didn't want that for her. I didn't want her to have to live her life taking care of me. I didn't want to cause her the pain of being told by a stranger in a uniform at her door that I was dead. "

Joan was shocked at how completely John was falling apart in front of her. Talking about this was supposed to help! Not tear him down. What had she done?

"You were thinking what was best for her. You were thinking with your head and not your heart! From what you've told me, it was the best thing to do for her sake, no matter how much it hurt you."

"No, no it wasn't. I hurt her. I hurt her so much. I started pulling away from her, little bit by little bit, trying to keep her at a distance. It had been so perfect between us, she knew something was not right almost immediately."

Pausing to regain a little more self-control, he continued. "She kept asking me if something was wrong. She knew I'd been distraught over bringing home my friends that one last time. She even knew one of them. We'd gone to visit his family." Remembering the sadness of that visit, seeing his friend's widow and baby had affected him profoundly. It had re-enforced his decision that he was doing the right thing by breaking it off with Jessica.

"That night, on the drive back home, Jessica, being her typical direct self, point blank asked me if I was trying to break up with her." A sad little smile appeared. "I almost drove off the road."

"We got back to her place and we sat in the car and talked for what felt like hours." Joan watched him struggling with the memory of that night. She could only imagine what it had been like.

"Years later, I was tortured by the Taliban but that was nothing like the pure torture of what I experienced watching Jessica fall apart. She'd been strong at first. Trying to use logic about why we should stay together. Over and over she'd tell me she could handle whatever might happen. She tried to convince me I was wrong and that we were stronger together than apart." John stood up and began to pace back and forth in front of the bench where they had been sitting.

"Hardest thing I have EVER done in my life was to stay detached from the emotional hell I was putting us both through." Back and forth John walked, hands clenching and unclenching as he continued. "I told her we were through. That I was not going to tie her down to something that could disappear without warning. There was no guaranteed future for us, she needed to go her own way and find happiness elsewhere." He stopped for a moment with his arms folded. Joan realized he was holding on to himself.

"She finally broke. It seemed like it had taken hours to reach that point, but she finally gave up. Her last words to me were 'PLEASE don't do this. I love you.' And I gave her the only answer I could, 'I have to do this.' What I couldn't say was 'I don't love you anymore'. That would have been a lie."

"I wanted to hug her, to make the pain go away but I knew I would only undo everything we'd gone through those last couple of hours. I couldn't put her through that again."

Joan stood up and again tried to hug John but he was still resistant to her comfort. To Joan, that signaled that there was more to come.

"I got out of the car and opened her door, so I could walk her into her apartment. But she wouldn't let me. She just looked at me." The agony that John was reliving was palpable. "I had made her cry. Something I had promised her I would never do. But I broke that promise. I made her cry. She didn't even wipe the tears away. She just turned and walked away."

Trying again to comfort him Joan said, "You did what you thought was the best for her. You had her best interests at heart. It was the right thing to do."

Shrugging Joan aside, John turned on her. "No! No it wasn’t! It was the worst thing I could have done!"

Confused, Joan looked at John for an explanation.

"I pushed her away. I thought she would find someone to love her and take care of her. Instead I pushed her into the arms of the man who ended up killing her........" John sobbed and finally broke down and accepted her comfort.

They sat on the bench for a while. No words passed between them. John had laid it all out there for Joan to see. The guilt he carried with him was a physical thing. Joan’s heart ached for him. He blamed himself for throwing away Jessica’s happiness and ultimately her life. She had no words of comfort for something like that.

“Why am I still here, but she’s not?” John whispered brokenly.

Joan considered the question for a moment. She felt this was why she was here now, with John. This was why his ‘lostness’ called out to her. She had been there, she had lived through some of these issues from the other side and she had survived it…..just so she could be there to save him that night on the bridge.

“Don’t you think that is something I have asked myself about my son? We can’t change the past John, as much as we want to. What is done is done. No amount of rage or sorrow or guilt is going to change that. What we can do is move forward. Wallowing in self pity, because that’s what this is, with a healthy dose of guilt, does nothing.”

Watching John to see if he was listening, Joan felt encouraged to keep on talking. “I couldn’t save my son but I was able to save you. You weren’t able to save Jessica, but one day there may be somebody out there you can save. That is the reason you are still here.” Reaching up she rubbed his back, just like she used to rub Danny’s back. It was as calming to her as it was to John.

_______________

Once again life returned to normal. The number of people living at the warehouse camp grew and then waned. People come and go; some move on to other groups of homeless. Some find a way off of the streets. But the core group that surrounded Joan remained pretty much the same. John became a more active member of the group. He no longer worried about the outside world. The CIA was a distant memory. He had a place in the group, this “society” that felt right.

Evenings were the preferred time for scavenging. There were fewer regular people on the street after the sun went down. It was easier to dig through trash without other people watching in judgement. They were looking for new things to trade or sell. He continued to learn about the life that was being lived under the radar. It felt good. There were no demands on him.

If Joan was the ‘mayor’ of their little group, John became the ‘cop’. He seldom had to use force to protect younger, weaker members of their group. Just the aura that he carried around him was sufficient most of the time. The few times troublemakers had tried to join their group, he and Joe had made short work of them and they were gone quickly. Life had settled into a comfortable routine.

Until the anniversary rolled around again; the third one since Joan had found him. With their long talks and shared experiences, the emotional toll that the anniversary took on John had lessened. This time he was only gone for the evening and he came back on his own, mostly sober. He’d just needed that time to think about Jessica, to honor her memory. He owed her that much at least. And again life took on the routine afterwards.


	14. Chapter 14

With so many demons exorcised, John felt like he was actually living again. Experiencing life again. He still had his bad days but now he was able to enjoy the company of Joe and Mack. The shared military background with Joe had gone a long way in making him feel more at ease with himself. There were days that John, Mack and Joe made their own excursions. They seldom got into trouble but they were known to throw back a few beers together as time and finances permitted. The normalcy of life was becoming comfortable.

One of the days that Joan had gone out without John, he hung around making himself busy cleaning up the area. He came across a pile of newspapers that they were going to use as fuel for the fire that night. He happened to notice the date, and the world stopped moving.

The date was two days AFTER the anniversary. How had he become so complacent with his current life that he’d forgotten the anniversary? He had forgotten about Jessica. How could he do that? How could he forget about HER??

He balled up the newspaper in his hand. The rage built up in him so fast he was almost panting with it. Was he forgetting her that easily? Because he had found a semblance of peace? Peace that had likely escaped her in her time with Peter.

Joan had helped him deal with his past but not to FORGET about his past. Jessica was too important to him. Or she had been. He’d felt the passage of time in his bones and knew that date. It was etched on his heart in her blood. What had happened? How had the date slipped by him?

He made his way back to the area that he shared with Joan. He grabbed the few things he called his own. Reaching under his sleeping pallet he pulled out the money he’d saved. It wasn’t much. But it was his. He wasn’t taking anything away from Joan.

Meanwhile, Joan came back from her outing, pushing her buggie full of new items. She couldn’t wait to show John! Not seeing him near the front of the warehouse, she pushed on through toward the back.

Joan saw him come from their area in back of the warehouse, in his hands were the few possessions he considered his alone. Seeing the look on his face she moved to intercept him.

"John? John?" She called out as she walked toward him. He ignored her.

"John! Where are you going?" She asked as she reached out and grabbed his arm.

Snatching his arm away he glared at her with a growl. Suddenly he came back to himself, realizing who was in front of him. Joan. His savior. His salvation. He finally was able to exhale. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath.

"Joan. I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" He asked with true concern in his voice. He would be doubly damned if he hurt her.

"No John, you didn't. But where are you going? I didn't think any of us were going out this afternoon."

Hanging his head, unable to look her in the eye he struggled to come up with an answer to her very simple question. But he didn't know. He didn't know where he was going. He just knew he’d become too content with his life. He just knew it was time for him to leave. Despite his deliberate attempts to forget it, his military and CIA training were suddenly kicking in. ‘You should never remain in one place too long out in the field. To do so was to court danger.’

Finally he looked her in the eye and said nothing. He had never been able to hide anything from her. From that first time he'd met her on that bridge four months ago, he’d been unable to lie to her. He might not always tell her the truth right at that moment, but eventually he would tell her the truth, the whole truth.

Joan saw the haunted look she had seen that night on the bridge. She frowned for a moment trying to figure why he would have that look now, after all this time. Then she realized what it was. It had to be about Jessica. Keeping track of dates had never been important to her but she had learned how important things like that were to some people. Like John. It had been a while since he’d gone off by himself. Had it been a month? Over a month? If that was what was causing this, she knew his thoughts, and now his actions, had to do with Jessica. She and John had talked long into the night many times about Jessica. Joan knew that she had no place in his memories right now, there was only room for Jessica. Had she been able to help him enough to handle what he was feeling now? Joan hoped so.

Placing her hand on his arm, she squeezed tight. "Be careful out there John. You know you always have a place here if you need it."

Giving her a smile that broke her heart, John turned and walked out the door of the warehouse.

With no clear idea of where he was going he just walked. The world had shrunk to the sidewalk in front of him. Looking neither right nor left he walked with his head down, his mind blank.

After starting out at a fast pace, his footsteps finally slowed to a normal one. The warehouse where the group had been staying was located in an industrial area where few people were out on the streets. Now the farther he walked, the more people he came across. Soon the sidewalks became crowded with people bumping into each other.

Most tended to keep their distance from him. Not only was he unkempt looking with the scraggly beard and longish hair, his multi-layers of mismatched clothes set him apart. But it was the projected aura of menace that really caused people to step around him rather than push by him. They then walked quickly to get away.

The sun was setting and the shadows were getting longer. It was getting more and more difficult to put one step in front of the other. Awareness of the people around him began to penetrate the fog that clouded his mind. Slowly his mind cleared and he relaxed his shoulders as he walked. He blended in more now, rather than stand out.

He found himself at the park next to the river. Looking for his bench took a moment but he finally found it. It had definitely seen better days. There was a slat missing on the back and a broken slat in the seat part which was why nobody was sitting there. That's why he liked it, most people didn't like anyone who looked like him sitting near them anyway. He had most of the area to himself.

Making himself comfortable as the sun set, he took in the view. There wasn't much boat traffic, just a ferry and a tour boat that he could see. The relative quiet over the area was only interrupted by the sounds of some birds that had spotted him. Landing on the bench and on the sidewalk around him they looked expectantly for some food.

"Sorry fellas. Got no food for you." He said with a sad smile. "I’m not fit company either. Shoo!"

It had been five months since he'd been in NYC. Five months since that black day in New Rochelle. Seemed like a lifetime ago now. Living with Joan for the last four months had changed him. He was not the same man who had confronted Peter nor was he the man who had stumbled around NYC for a month.

The panic and the rage had dissipated somewhat while he walked, his mind felt clearer. He was trying to figure out why he’d let that date, the anniversary date, slip by unnoticed. Something that had been so important to him, someONE who had been so important to him should have still been in his mind and in his heart. Did he not love her as much as he’d thought, now that she had slipped from his memory? What if he forgot what she looked like? What if he forgot what her kisses had tasted like? What if he forgot how she’d made him feel? Had he stopped loving her?

Leaning over, with his elbows on his knees he buried his face in his hands. The guilt and shame he was feeling was overwhelming. He couldn’t lose her again! All he had of her was his memory! And now he was losing that! All the longing and torment he thought he’d put to rest, came roaring back with a vengeance. He finally gave into it, letting it flow through him.

Eventually the personal and emotional beating he was giving himself played out. There was no more left to give. He felt like he’d eviscerated his soul.

Off to his right he saw the GW Bridge, the bridge that had played such a huge part in his life these last couple of months. Standing up, he straightened his clothes and turned toward the bridge and started walking. There were fewer people now that the sun had gone down. Even the birds and the squirrels, who were normally in competition over crumbs of food, were missing. There was a starkness that seemed fitting for his mental state.

John paused in front of a liquor store that was near the foot of the bridge. Shaking his head he bet the store did a lot of business being so close to the bridge. Depressed people probably stopped by quite often. He wondered if the owner tipped off police if he saw some customers head for the bridge. The blue and white signs were there to offer help for people in need but so many ignored them. He had. He had walked, or stumbled, right by those signs more than once. He wondered if he’d need that number tonight.

Looking back up at the bridge that he'd been drawn to the same time every month, he wondered what had changed. He'd come here to be alone and remember life with Jessica, and to think about the life that might have been. Except this month. He was two days late. Before today, each month it had gotten easier for him. Joan's words echoed in his head and his heart. The first time he'd been here after the night Joan had saved him, he almost completed what he'd started out to do. That time it seemed that all her hard work seemed to have been for naught, he’d been ready to end it AGAIN. But that night had also been the beginning of her power to heal him.

Walking into the liquor store he bought a bottle of liquor. Just one. Wrapping the paper bag around it he walked out of the store. Old habits were hard to break but that one was the first one he broke: Not opening the bottle in the store and drinking. He was trying to regain the control that he’d learned from Joan. Smiling grimly, he continued on his way up the bridge.

Traffic was heavy and noisy after the quiet of the waterfront park. The buffeting from the passing cars was pretty strong. Staying on the walkway he made his way to “that” spot, the exact spot every month. This was the fourth time. He wondered if it would be the last. He sat down and leaned back against the girder, setting the bottle, still wrapped in its brown paper bag, next to him.

Joan had given him back his confidence, showed him his worth, his worth as a human being. He thought about all he’d shared with Joan. She had helped him see the truth. All the wishing in the world couldn’t change what had happened. All the anger in the world wouldn’t change a thing either. Joan said she had decided to live her life to honor her son and to try and pay it forward, trying to help people who were lost like her son. Like him. She’d found him, found him in time. And he’d been happy.

So happy that he’d forgotten the anniversary. The anniversary of losing Jessica. The guilt at that was heavy. He’d learned to live without her but he did not want to forget her. And that was just what he’d done. He’d forgotten her.

He held up the bottle of liquor. Opening it up, he took a long swallow. It left him sputtering. He hadn’t had any straight liquor in well over a month, only an occasional beer with Joe and Mack when they could scrape together the money to buy a six-pack.

Beating himself up mentally and emotionally with every swallow. He’d finished the bottle before he realized it. He needed more.

Sitting there on the bridge he went back over the things he’d told Joan. Things he’d never even put into words before, things about Jessica, about himself. Joan had eased his mind and his heart. But maybe he wasn’t ready to leave Joan. Maybe she could help him understand how he’d forgotten Jessica. Did she ever forget her son? He needed to talk to Joan. But first he needed some more booze.

Walking back down the bridge he stopped in the liquor store again. He had enough money for some really cheap booze this time with a little bit left over. But it would have to do.

He decided to use the rest of his money and ride on the subway. He wasn’t ready to go back to the camp in the warehouse just yet and he could just ride as long as he wanted. He wasn’t fit company for anybody. Liquor plus the guilt over forgetting something so important had put him in a foul mood.

There were not many people on the subway late at night. Keeping the bottle wrapped tightly on the paper bag he found himself an empty car and settled down for a ride. He hoped the constant swaying of the subway and the monotonous sound of the rails would lull him into sleep. Joan would know what to say. She’d fix him.

Sipping on the cheap booze he let his mind wander as sleep over took him. He hoped he’d dream. Maybe the good dream, the one of him and Jessica on the beach in Mexico. That was his favorite. The warmth of the sun, the sound of the ocean and Jess stretched out next to him on the beach towel. Tropical breezes ruffled her hair. He loved watching how the sun played on her hair. He never knew there were so many shades of blonde. They’d shared a bottle of tequila. They had been happy and relaxed. Using a slice of lime like it was his teeth and grinning at her, making her laugh. God, he loved her laugh.

But sometimes it was the other dream, the dark one. Walking into the hospital in New Rochelle, he’d been tired and dirty, still recovering from being shot by Kara. They’d taken his phone at Ordoz and had he not been able to call her and tell her he was finally coming for her as promised. He remembered asking about Jessica and hearing those words that ended his world: ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Jessica died in a car accident.’

The darkness of that moment had turned to black when he was sitting in Peter’s home. Watching the wedding video, of the wedding that could have been THEIRS, had almost killed him. It had been impossible to breathe. Every breath he was able to take, made the ache in his chest worst.

It had been the sound of Peter’s voice that brought him back, brought everything back into focus. But it was Peter’s words that finally broke him, “what do you want?” His own words, wrenched his soul out of his body, “You don’t have anything I want…………..not anymore.”

It was the sound of metal hitting metal, when Peter picked up the fireplace poker, that flipped the kill switch in him. Black despair turned to red rage as he stood and moved toward Peter.

Which dream would it be? The bright one full of love and laughter that never ended or the dark one full of loss and pain and the uncontrollable rage?

As sleep finally claimed him, it was the dark dream that came to him........

He was in the deepest part of the dark dream, where Jessica was being pulled away from him, when he felt a hand pulling on his bottle in the paper bag.


	15. Chapter 15

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Deliverance Cover Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16569383) by [Souhashi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Souhashi/pseuds/Souhashi)
  * [Deliverance Cover Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16569383) by [Souhashi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Souhashi/pseuds/Souhashi)




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